


A Minute Later

by Ziggy05



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dean is Missing, Demon Dean, FBI, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Plot Twists, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3599295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziggy05/pseuds/Ziggy05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wakes up one day, and he's not even in his own world. Apparently, in this world, he was supposed to never have got his soul back. Dean was supposed to have arrived a minute to late to stop him from killing Bobby, and that tiny, otherwise insignificant change set off a huge chain of events. The most troublesome of them all being his brother. His brother... who is still a demon. Now Sam must deal with finding and curing his brother again, getting home, and dealing with his own mind which is potentially a ticking time bomb- all while being on the FBI's most wanted list. Particularly when getting home and fixing things might not be as easy as they might first seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Don't Think We're In Kansas Anymore

Sam shot up.

His eyes were buzzing around like an agitated bee, flying from one side of the room to the next, taking in all of the new information that they saw. ... What had he done last night...? He hadn't gone out drinking, no- he'd worked a case with Dean, had as good a dinner as their pathetic pay would allow them, gone back to the bunker and gone to sleep. Now, that was all well and good- his bed hadn't been too uncomfortable, the dinner hadn't been too cold and the case hadn't been so terrifying and yet now there was an issue.

A major, major issue.

He had definitely fallen asleep in the bunker, in his room, right? Because there was a problem here. A major, major problem.

This wasn't his bed.

This wasn't his room.

This wasn't the bunker.

Lots of weird crap had happened to Sam throughout his life, but this was something new for him. It was a very disorienting experience, he found, going to sleep in one place and waking up another. The only other time he had experienced such discontent when he had fallen asleep in front of the television after a hunt when he was twelve, and Dean and their father had carried him to his bedroom. He had woken up the next day not knowing why or how he had gotten there, and the feeling was quite similar now. This, of course, was on a much larger scale. He didn't know who had taken him here, or even where he was. Dean and him had a lot of enemies, so he was assuming that one of them had kidnapped him, taken him here. He reached into his pocket, searching for his phone. At the very least, he could call Dean, tell him what had happened so that Dean might be able to find him and come and get him. When he put his hand in, however, the phone was gone. "Damn it." Sam cursed. Of course, whoever had kidnapped him had been smart enough to take his cellphone.

He looked around the room out of sheer curiosity. It seemed to be a cheap motel room- god knew he'd stayed in enough of those to recognize one when he saw it. It had a single, overly creaky bed with some cheap, moth-bitten quilts and sheets and one pillow. There were... miscellaneous stains on the ceiling and walls of various shapes and colors which Sam had never quite managed to find the cause of, as well as a simple, grubby blue carpet and all of the cockroach marks and mouse shit you would expect out of a place like this. A solitary, tiny window that couldn't quite open up far enough to let a nice, constant breeze in sat at one end of the room, just behind the bed- the only source of light other then the unpredictable, not-quite-stable light that hung from the ceiling. A tiny bathroom lacking a bin, mirror and usable sink was on the other side of the room, and as Sam stared at it he realized just how much he had to go. Should I risk it? He thought to himself, although he quickly dismissed the idea. Prior experiences with motels told him that using the bathroom in your room was never a good idea, no matter HOW busting you thought you were.

As Sam recognized the room for what it was, it lit a few red flags in his mind here and there. For one, motels were quite public. If he had been drugged while asleep, then how had the kidnapper managed to get him over here without the reception at least seeing him? Perhaps the receptionist WAS the kidnapper? But then, how many motel receptionists did Sam know with the skill and time to sneak into the bunker of two overwhelmingly trained hunters, drug him, sneak out without Dean noticing and drive him all the way over here?

Where ever 'over here' was.

Not really expecting it to work, Sam moved over to the room door and tried the doorknob. To his (immense) surprise, he found that the door opened quite easily- it wasn't that the doorknob was too old or that the lock was rusted through or something like that- no, it just, simply, wasn't locked. Had the kidnapper forgot to lock it when he had gone out? Then again, who was smart and determined enough to search their victim's pockets and then forget to lock the door? This whole thing didn't make any sense. A normal person would have said 'it was too strange for their liking', but Sam had had stranger. He was a stockholm syndrome sucker for strange- he'd gone through so much shit that he LIKED a little strange in his life.

"I could get stockholm syndrome this time around as well." Sam said quietly to himself, cautiously pushing the door open. He looked around the hallway, making sure there was nobody there. The door number read 2D, so he must have been on the second floor. He began to tiptoe quietly down the hall. "Too bad I won't be around to get it." Too bad my foot, he thought. When he made it to the stairs, he quickly made his way down, waited until the receptionist went into the counter's backroom and then made a run for it, slamming the motel door behind him. It swung for a little while, and the noise, if the kidnapper had been the person at the counter, had most likely pulled them out of the back room to examine the noise. By that time, however, Sam had already managed to jack an unlocked car and he was on the road.

Sam drove quicker then he would have usually done, his breaths quick and raspy from the adrenaline rush. Okay, so, he had woken up in a strange motel with his phone missing. He had no idea who had done it or why, but whoever they were they had left the door unlocked. He recognized the sign on the side of the road as belonging to a little town, about a five hours drive away from the bunker. He grit his teeth in annoyance. Great, so had they just wanted to divert him, perhaps? Were they planning to hurt Dean? Was that why they had taken his phone, so that he couldn't warn him? It still didn't explain why hadn't just locked the door, however. Maybe it was so they could make a get away without him knowing who his kidnapper was or attacking him.

At the thought that Dean might be in trouble, Sam slammed his foot to the acceleration pedal, not even caring that he was going five over the speed limit. If it helped him get to where Dean was quicker, five measly points quicker was nothing to fret over. It was a five hour drive, roughly, and Sam had no idea of knowing how long he had been out for. For all he knew, he could have been too late. Dean could have been killed, and the kidnapper could have been hours away from both of them by now. Perhaps Dean had won and killed the kidnapper, which Sam knew was more then a valid possibility. The third option was that he wasn't too late, and that he was only a few minutes behind the kidnapper. It was a thin line of hope, but Sam supposed that he had to rely on it. Heck, maybe he had it all wrong and there WAS no kidnapper, or maybe they weren't going after Dean at all. Perhaps they really HAD just slipped up and forgot to lock the door.

Sam still had to get back to the bunker, however, and so he drove.

By the time Sam arrived at the bunker, it was dark. He had parked the stolen car about a mile away from the bunker to throw off suspicion and he had walked ran the rest of the way-force of habit. Sighing, tired from the long drive, he tried the door to bunker. Unsurprisingly, unlike the door in the motel room, the bunker door was locked. He felt around his pockets briefly, and he was delighted to find that the kidnapper had not bothered to take the bunker key from his pockets. His wallet was there also, as were some other things like loose change and crumpled up wads of paper, but still not his phone. Sam tried the key on the door, unlocked it and entered. It was one in the morning- it had been six when he had set out. He had gotten caught in some fairly bad traffic along the way, he guessed. Hopefully, so had the kidnapper, because if he hadn't then chances were he would have been far away by now- if he wasn't already.

By this time, if everything was alright, Sam assumed that Dean might be asleep. Sam never got any sleep, not with the demons that haunted his mind- some of them literal. He had heard Dean, also, twisting and turning restlessly in his bed, stomping around, muttering to himself- he rarely fell asleep until well after dawn as well, and even then, for Sam too, it was mostly just from uncontrollable tiredness. Every time Sam closed his eyes, however, he saw hell, or himself killing somebody, or torturing something... He was positive that Dean felt the same way, although he would never admit it to Sam. They probably shared in the same restless nightmares, as well.

"Dean...?" Sam called softly. The first thing Sam noticed was the disturbing amount of angel warding symbols displayed across the bunker's main room. He began to examine the rooms, one by one. He found that they too, had the same warding symbols. It was really beginning to freak him out- sure, demon warding symbols he got- but instead of those, there were angel warding symbols? Were they related to this? Had him and Castiel had a fight or something- had his kidnapper been Castiel? He chuckled at the idea. The first room he checked was Dean's, and then when Dean wasn't in there he checked his own. Dean wasn't in either room, however there was no blood or sign of a struggle either, so that was good. Sam had almost searched every room in the house and, not seeing any sign or clue as to where Dean had gotten to, he was beginning to lose hope. It was if Dean had just vanished into thin air- no struggle, no killing, no nothing. Perhaps he had just gone out for a bit? He was just turning and preparing to search one of the remaining rooms when he heard a loud crinkle come from behind him, as if somebody had just stepped on something. Paranoid, he turned around, but before he could see who the person was, something solid and hard hit him in the head and he was knocked out cold.


	2. Soul Tied

For the second time that day, Sam woke up, confused. This time, however, there was none of the usual, morning grogginess that you would associate with waking up. Instead, there was a sickness. He felt light headed, his vision was blurred, the world was spinning around him and he felt like he was going to throw up. The second thing that Sam noticed was that his hands hurt. Like, really, really hurt. Through his blurred vision, he thought he could make out something that vaguely resembled rope, tied around and around his wrists, digging into them. They had obviously been tied far too tightly, and his hands were beginning to turn purple.

He realized that he could feel the uncomfortable wooden frame of a chair digging into his back, as well as feel cold stone beneath his bare feet. As his vision began to clear, he also began to make out the shape of a figure standing over him, holding something in its right hand. The person seemed bored, or impatient, or something, and so they were twisted the object back and forth, rolling it in their palms. Sam felt a sense of dread as he realized that this object was sharp- a kitchen knife, or something- and as his assaulter's face came into focus Sam felt the small lump in his throat grow ten-fold.

"...D-dean?" Sam tried. "N-no, you're not Dean! Dean wouldn't tie me up like this- you must be a shapeshifter or.. or something." He sounded helpless- he'd gone through the same routine of saying that to his brother time and time again- how many times had it really not been him? Two times, maybe? Three? Either way, he'd said it a heck of a lot more then that.

The Dean... maybe shapeshifter laughed coldly. A coldness that Sam always hated to hear in his brother's voice. It was a coldness that was reserved for monsters he was torturing, or people who he hated, and for him to use it on Sam disturbed him. Even if this wasn't really Dean, just hearing it in his familiar tone was frightening. He wanted... hoped that it wasn't really Dean- and if it was, what the heck was he doing? "Oh, I'm Dean, 'Sammy'," he spat. Sam winced at the acid that Dean coated on his nickname. "Of course, after so many years of going off on your own, hiding from me and betraying me you might not recognize me, so I'll let that one slide."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but he was speechless. Going off on his own? Hiding from him? What was he talking about? It'd been maybe... half a day since he'd seen Dean? He knew- he'd checked the date in the newspaper before going to the bunker. Before he could find the right words, however, 'Dean' continued.

"Seriously, how long has it been?" 'Dean' put the blade he was holding down on the ground for a moment, crouching down until he was at eye level with Sam. He sneered a little, tilting his head. "Tsk, I think the last time we met was in the incident with the Leviathans, right? You helped me take down the big boss like a good Samaritan, Sammy. Together, we knocked that overgrown whale to the ground! Oh, yeah, but that was BEFORE you took off and left me to rot in purgatory." His fake smile turned into a frown quickly, and he resumed his usual pose, holding the knife in his hands once again. This time however, there was something more sinister to his movements, as if he was silently threatening Sam.

Sam was bewildered. He had literally no clue what to say. Had Dean lost his mind, or something? Was this one of those 'strange' things that he saw all the time? He had no way of knowing. "I..." He began, trying desperately to get a word out, but Dean continued, overshadowing his pathetic attempt at communication.

"I looked for you, you know." 'Dean' said. "I looked everywhere. Came reaaaal close some days, too. By the time I got to where you were supposed to be, however, you were gone." He smiled again, another fake one. This one had a really dark edge to it, however, as did his voice, as if he were teasing him, saying 'you'll pay for that, and I'll enjoy it'. "...You sent me on a real goose chase, Sammy. REALLY got my hopes up, and then crushed em' to smithereens. I researched for years and years how I could get your soul back, you know? I looked on every damn site, in every DAMN book- even talked to every damn person I could think of." He slammed the knife down on the chair's armrest, millimetres from Sam's arm. Sam flinched, feeling the cold metal barely touch his skin. By now, Dean's face had contorted into something horrific. "I wasted YEARS of my life looking for you, Sam! YEARS! I could have DONE something, I could have SAVED people! But no, because of YOU, you PATHETIC idiot, I got dragged down into the mud. How is that fair? How is it fair that even when I'm nowhere NEAR you, you STILL manage to fuck my life up? And of course, it was all for nothing anyway, because years later you come staggering in through the door, wasting my research, wasting years of work trying to find you- and by the looks of things, you even have your soul back! Well, isn't that just great? I hope you remember hell, Sammy, because that's less then you deserve." He cracked his knuckles, wrenching the knife out of the chair arm. "What I'm planning to do to you is less then what you deserve."

Sam's confusion was making his head hurt. Dean... thought that he hadn't had his soul until now? But... that made no... What had happened to Dean? By this point, Sam was pretty sure it was Dean. No shapeshifter could fake anger THAT intense. Sure, they could make it seem pretty real, make it feel pretty real. They could even get the look of their eyes right- but hatred THIS pure? No, that was something that only a person who had really experienced something could conjure up. Dean's words stung him, like barbed wire. Pathetic idiot? Drag him down into the mud? Less then he deserved? Sam began to feel terrible. Something was very, very wrong here. For one, Sam swore that he had heard a similar speech from Dean before. On top of that, if Dean truly did believe that Sam had been soulless all this time...

Crap.

Sam hadn't even done anything wrong, and yet, suddenly, his entire body felt like it was on fire.

No doubt, if Sam hadn't had his soul this entire time, Dean would have searched for him. He would have searched for him until the ends of the earth, wasted as much time as it took to find him- and he had just walked into the bunker, soul and all, and acted as if everything was okay.

"D-dean, I'm..." Sam began. Dean's entire body was shaking with pure rage, and Sam began to realize how unnatural all of that anger seemed. His eyes widened as he slowly began to piece together what was going on here.

"...You're what?" Dean's fist grasped the knife handle tighter, his knuckles turning white from the force he was exerting. Then, softly, he began to chuckle. "You're SORRY? Do you really think I give a crap that you're sorry, Sammy? You're still going to pay, you know. Do you really think that a single word would restore years and years of destroyed life? I'm not just talking about mine, oh no." He shook his head, hate and amusement playing around in his eyes. Hate was definitely the ruler. "I'm talking about other people's lives as well, Sammy. The hundreds of people that died because I was too busy looking for you to help them."

"...Y-you don't mean that." Sam said. "You don't really think I'm to blame for all of this... DO you, Dean?"

Dean looked at Sam like he was an idiot. "...What the heck are you talking about?"

Sam swallowed, forcing himself to continue. "...I mean, its not really 'you' speaking, is it? ...You're not human, Dean, are you?" Sam was startled as he found himself practically nose to nose with Dean, who was smiling cynically. If the lump in Sam's throat had been the size of a country before, it grew to the size of an entire planet when Dean's eyes suddenly flashed black. After a few moments of staring into those eyes, he shut his own and looked away, his heart beating fast.

"Oh, its 'me', alright. But you're right about one thing... I'm not human. So what?" Dean said. His eyes returned to normal and he stepped back. Eventually, Sam got up the courage and faced Dean again, his face a conglomeration of negative emotions- hate, fear, guilt, worry, sadness... the list went on. Dean chuckled. "I mean, you lost your soul, Sammy! All mine did was TWIST a little. So, you tell me. Whats worse- having a slightly filthy glass or having no glass at all?" He began to play with the knife in his hands again. "Sure," he said. "The filthy glass might give you the flu, but without the glass you wouldn't have anything to hold the water in. Eventually, you'd wither and die. And you know something, Sammy? I don't need to be a demon to tell you this, but I wish you'd done the same. Even BEFORE I became a demon I hated your guts. All you did was make my life meaningless and yet for some strange reason I still went on trying to find you. All I'm doing now, Sammy, is evening the score- if I kill you, I won't have anybody to find." He shrugged, flipping the knife. "Game, set, match."

Sam took a deep breath. "Dean..." He began, slowly. "I... I don't know what is going on here, okay? J-just yesterday I was in a world where I had my soul- where I've HAD my soul since you stopped me from killing Bobby that one time." He thought he saw a fresh wave of hatred glimmer in Dean's eyes at the mention of Bobby. "I-I never abandoned you in that world.. And..." He looked up at Dean. He decided it was best not to tell him about how he had cured Dean of his demon-hood in that other timeline. "A-and you never spent years looking for me." Dean seemed about to reply skeptically, and so Sam opened his mouth to hastily continue. "Think about it," he said. "Why else would I come back here, with a bunker key, completely unprepared for your reaction?"

Dean seemed to think about Sammy's words for a little while, before a cold look fell on his face. His eyes had a scary seriousness to them, like they always did before an interrogation, and Sam gulped. With the lump in his throat, it hurt to do so. "Even if it wasn't you, that doesn't change the fact that somebody has got to pay. You're Sam either way, you could be lying, and you just walked into the bunker without a clue in the world! Why the heck would I pass this chance up for revenge? I spent years looking for you. Even if it wasn't YOU in particular, I still spent years! And if I can't get revenge on 'my' Sam, I can at least get revenge on you!" He stopped, an even icier glaze overcoming his eyes. "And another thing... Sammy." He said, forcing out the word Sammy as if it were poison. "NEVER say that."

Sam looked at Dean in confusion. "Huh?" He said.

Dean looked away. "... Never say that I 'stopped' you from killing bobby."

Sam was confused at first, but as he realized what Dean meant, he felt a block of ice begin to form inside of him. There was only one reason why Dean would tell him not to say that he hadn't stopped Sam from killing Bobby.

Dean hadn't.


	3. A Guardian Angel

"Woah, woah, woah... Dean, back up a little here..." Sam was still at a loss for words. "...I killed Bobby? Me?" By this point, Sam knew that he was no longer in his own world, however the thought of him doing something so cold and so awful frightened him. He forced himself to remember how he had felt when he had found out that he had almost axe-murdered the closest person that he had had to family- it was all so vivid now. The grip he had had on the axe, the cold, blatant lack of any and all emotion... How had he not cared? Why had he not cared? At the time it had made perfect sense, it had been logical- after all, killing Bobby would have benefited his goals- emotions had seemed fickle, and he had asked himself why he cared. Now that Sam had his soul back however he knew why he cared, and he knew how what he had done was monstrous. He would have liked to deny it, to say that it was a monster, or that it just simply wasn't him- but he couldn't say that. Even without a soul it was still his mind and it was still his body, and he had been conscious of everything that he was doing, aware that he was about to kill somebody who he prior had deeply cherished.

"Is that really so surprising?" Dean scowled. "Even to me, you're a monster, Sam. You were a monster when you had no soul, and you're a monster now. A demon, Sammy, enjoys killing." He smiled for what must have been the fourth or fifth time that night- another cold, empty smile. "You, on the other hand," he laughed, waving his finger at Sam. "You felt nothing. You just picked up that axe, chased down the man who had fed you and looked after you and been so kind to you for so long- and then... BAM!" Dean clapped loudly, acting out the sound. It made Sam jump. "You split his head like a melon, Sammy."

Sam looked away, his own emotions making him sick. "Stop..." He murmured.

Dean continued, letting out a long, spiteful laugh. "Sure, I've killed people. Sure, I've enjoyed it, Sammy. But honestly? Even like this, I have NEVER, EVER killed anybody who didn't have what was coming to them. That fucking asshole who attacked me at the gas station deserved it, everybody else in between has deserved it, and you're going to deserve it most of all. You killed a friend, you sick bastard! You felt nothing at all while you did it! So let me ask you, Sammy- who's the real monster?"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" Sam yelled. His own anger surprised him. Before he could stop himself, the words were rolling out like logs down a hill, and there was nothing that Sam could do to stop them. "Just... Shut up! When you became a demon back in my world, Dean, I didn't stop looking for a way to cure you until the very end! Don't you DARE talk to me about killing somebody you love, Dean- You've killed, and you've attempted to kill so, SO many people that you have loved, even before you became a demon. The whole time I was working to get you back to normal, Dean, to make you HUMAN again- and I had to stand there, listening to you giving me this same fucking speech, taunting me and mocking me all because I was trying to help you. I hadn't even killed Bobby in that world, and you still gave me the same garbage about hating me and me being a thorn in your side- so its not true! Its not possibly true! Stop using Bobby as an excuse for your own damn rage and grow the f-

Sam was cut off as something solid collided with his jaw. He felt himself spit out blood, and for a second he was confused at what had just happened. The pain began to set in, however, a slow, dull ache at first but then worse and worse. Dean had a strong punch at the best of times, but his demonic nature and his unnatural rage had obviously added something to him physically because it felt so much worse then it usually would have.

"Don't you DARE assume how I could possibly feel!" Dean growled. "I couldn't care less about your little sob story, and about how you attempted to 'cure' me, alright? You were probably being a crying little bitch who deserved what I said to you anyway! And you know, what, it shows something, if I gave you same lecture in 'your world', if you're not just crazy." Sam winced, struggling in the chair as Dean pulled the knife back, preparing to plunge it into his chest. Somewhere along the line, he shut his eyes tight and braced himself for the imminent pain that he was about to feel. "I will ALWAYS hate you Sam. Even in the next universe I can't help but feel nothing but detest for you!" A heavy grunt showed Sam that Dean had driven the knife forward, and he took a deep, terrified breath. He felt the air as the knife whizzed towards his chest and the cold metal as it began to push against his clothes- however, before the knife could pierce his skin, the cold disappeared, and room was suddenly quiet.

Sam, confused, sat there in silence for a little while. Finally, after ten or twenty seconds, he managed to speak. "... Dean?" He dared to ask.

There was no noise for a moment, and then, somebody spoke. "...Its over, Sam. You can open your eyes now."

Sam thought he recognized that voice, but it was too good to be true, wasn't it? The timing was too good, the chance too small. None the less, he wasn't dead, and so muscle by muscle, he forced his eyes to open. Sam felt his heart, which seconds ago had been so close to being literally ripped open, almost burst with relief. "...Castiel?" He said. "B-but how? T-the angel warding spells..." He felt the ropes loosen around him as somebody undid the knots that bound him.

Castiel frowned. He looked behind him at where Dean was being held in devil-trap engraved hand cuffs by two other angels. "... Me and a few other angels have been working for a couple of months now to get in here, to Dean. Its just lucky that we got in here when we did- any later and you wouldn't be alive."

Sam looked at Castiel in disbelief. "So... You're telling me that it was all just... LUCK that you saved me when you did?"

"... Believe it or not, Sam, miracles do happen." His eyes narrowed, his face taking on a more serious edge to it. "...In fact, Sam, you seem to be a walking miracle yourself." When Sam shot him a look of confusion, Castiel continued. "... Your soul, Sam. I can sense it. How you... got it back- or even why you would choose to get it back after all these years I'm not certain of, but there are bigger things at stake here." He glanced over at Dean briefly.

Until now, the larger angel of the pair holding Dean had kept his hand firmly pressed over Dean's mouth. After a lot of struggling, however, Dean managed to free himself from the angel's hold just long enough to verbalize his wrath. "You'll pay for this, Cas, you hear me?" He roared. His anger was almost animalistic. "I'll slit your throat and rip out your tongue!" As the two angels fought to keep him back, he shot a frightening grin at Sam, as well. "Heh, and you, Sammy- you don't want to KNOW what I'm going to do to you when I get out of these cuffs, believe me!" As the two angels finally pulled him back, he feebly swung at them with the cuffs, letting out a cry of rage. "Get off me!" He spat.

"... There's more here going on then you know, Castiel." Sam admitted. "In a sense, I don't think that I, or at least, this worlds me got my soul back."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "... This worlds you...? You mean to say that... You're not the Sam from this world? ... What world are you from, then? More importantly, how did you get here?"

Sam shook his head. Part of him was mildly surprised that Castiel believed him, but then again, this was Cas that he was talking to. "... To be honest, I don't really know myself." Sam said. "In my world, Dean restored my soul years ago- so this is all very confusing to me. Like, I get that Dean spent years searching for me- other me, that is- and I get that I can't have been around to cure him yet in this world. I also get that this all started when I killed Bobby a few years back, but other then that, Cas, I have no clue what is going on. Mind filling me in on a few things?"

"... Theres not really much more to it." Castiel admitted. "After you killed Bobby, I guess you knew that Dean wouldn't want to be around you anymore, and so you just... vanished. Apparently Dean saw you leaving the building and tried to go after you, but you shot him in the leg. Dean tried to look for you after that- he threw off cases, friends and family- I even saw him turn down a girl who was trying to have sex with him." Castiel explained. Sam snickered at Castiel's blunt-as-always way of putting things. "I know it wasn't really... you, per say, but... Our sam's disappearance really messed him up."

"What about afterwards? Dean mentioned something about how him and me... about how him and your Sam met each other once more before he went to purgatory...? Whats that all about?" Sam asked.

"Ah, that." Castiel began. "You see, a while after your disappearance, I sort of... released a bunch of leviathans into your human world. Dean was tracking you down while also trying to stop them, you see. He got... very worked up about it. I don't think I'd ever seen him so angry, not until now, anyway- what with the mark of cain, and all." Castiel looked up at Sam, frowning. "... You do have all of these events in your world, right? Dean getting the mark of the cain, the release of the leviathans..."

Sam nodded hastily. "Yeah, yeah." He said. "Please, continue."

Castiel looked a little unsure. "... Very well." He said. "Dean would get no sleep. He would stay up until 6 AM every night, torturing leviathan, screaming at them- I could hear your brothers agony and pure rage from heaven, Sam. If you think you're brother can be scary when he tortures monsters, you would not have liked him then." Sam flinched, thinking back to how he had felt when Dean had been a demon. He thought he could relate, at least partly to what Dean must have felt. Castiel looked over at Dean. His eyes were black by now and he was pathetically thrashing and kicking, desperate to get out of the lock that the angels had him in. His rageful struggle was in vain, however. Castiel continued. "It took him a long, long time, Sam, but eventually Dean managed to get all of the information he needed. He got the weapon as well- except there was one problem."

"What was that?" Sam asked.

"... He was only able to get the blood of a fallen angel to use on the weapon." Castiel said. "Crowley and the last remaining Alpha had already given the other two blood samples to Sam, and obviously they weren't very happy to give any to Dean for free." He sighed. "Dean, being the stubborn person that he is, decided that me and him should try and defeat the leviathan leader, Dick, anyway. It was his idea that perhaps you had found a way to get your soul back and that you were attempting to help him out. He was determined that you were going to meet him at Dick's hideout and give him the remaining two bottles of blood... But, he only got half of that right." Castiel bit his lip. "...Yes, you wanted to defeat Dick, and yes, you did give him the bottles of blood, but no, you didn't have your soul back. You were just doing it because, one- you were still a hunter, and two- The world ending wouldn't be very beneficial for you. You had apparently discovered the Leviathans' plans way before Dean had, had found out where Dick was hiding, realized what you had to do to kill them and had gone to Crowley and the Alpha vampire long before Dean had even thought of it."

Sam supposed it made sense. After all, he had been the one to realize that Leviathans were poisoning the food. He couldn't help but wonder, however, how many extra toxic burgers Dean had chowed down on before he had realized that he was being dumbed down. "Bottom line," Castiel continued. "Dean was planning to capture you and lock you up until he found a way to stuff your soul back into you so that you didn't hurt anybody or do anything stupid. You gave Dean the blood, me, you and him defeated Dick together and Dean was about to turn on you when he and I got sucked into purgatory." Castiel paused direly. "... I have no idea what you did in the year while we were away, Sam. Dean and I weren't there to track your movements and when we got back it was as if you had erased all traces of anything you had been doing. Even more then ever, you really, really did not want to be caught."

"... What are you saying, Castiel?" Asked Sam.

"... I'm saying, Sam, that whatever you did in the time while me and Dean were in purgatory was something that you absolutely did NOT want anyone to find out. Even Charlie couldn't find out where you had been, it was that secure."

A new set of chills ran through Sam. ... What had he been up to in the year that Dean and Castiel had been in purgatory? Whatever it was, it was obviously something dark, and Sam had the sense that this ran deeper then him coldly murdering a person or abandoning Dean. Whatever it was, Sam knew that he was walking right into a spiders web, one in which he was sure to get tangled into.


	4. Role Reversal

The change of roles startled, even disturbed Sam. Moments ago, he had been sitting in the chair, tied up helplessly at the mercy of his brother. Now, it was the other way around. Sure, Dean was a little more guarded, and a lot more angry, but it was the same rope, the same chair, the same place. They'd just snapped handcuffs on him, tied the knot tighter then they usually would have done and had drawn a devils trap beneath the chair. Dean snarled, looking up at Sam with a malice-coated, ear-to-ear grin. "...What are you going to do to me, Sammy? Are you going to kill me?"

"I know better then anyone how dangerous you are like this, Dean." Sam said softly. "That is why I'm going to cure you."

Dean threw his head back, laughing. Eventually, he stopped, gasping for breath. "Thanks, Sammy, I needed that. You know that there is no way to cure a demon! If this is more of that 'other world' mumbo jumbo you keep going on about, you must have one peachy life. You wouldn't even need to kill demons! You could just save the people inside, person after person!" Sam clenched his teeth, thinking about Dean's words. He was about to speak, when Dean took the words right out of his mouth. "Oh, but let me guess- its not that simple is it? More likely, you're just lazy. Too much work saving people when you could just kill them, am I right? See, you're a physcopath with AND without a soul, Sammy!"

Sam chose to ignore Dean, but his face gave away the pain he was feeling. "... Just be quiet, Dean." He said quietly. "This'll go a lot smoother if you are." He wasn't really surprised that the Dean of this world had never found the cure for demon-hood. After all, obviously Dean hadn't completed the trials as he was still alive. On top of that, he had been looking for Sam, and Sam doubted if Dean could handle the physical exertion that the trials had put on him in the state Castiel made him out to be in.

Castiel frowned. "Sam... do you really have a cure? I think you mentioned it briefly before... but how did you possibly get your hands on such a thing? I find it rather hard to believe."

"So, how does this work?" Dean asked. "Do we have to sit in a circle playing pin the tail on the demon, or do you chant an incantation or what?"

"...Its a long story." Sam said to Castiel. He turned to Dean, a syringe in his left hand. "And, as for how this will work, I guess you ought to know for when I cure you." He grunted, jabbing the syringe into his own arm. He winced as it extracted the blood he needed. "You see this?" Sam held the syringe up for Dean to see. "This is my blood. Once I bless it, I'll be able to use it to cure you, Dean. One jab in the neck. Every hour. Then an incantation on the last hour."

Dean smirked. "...Blood? Really? You really think that some blood will cure me?" He snickered. "... Wow, you are crazier then I thought." He shook his head. "Besides, Sammy, if purified human blood is the answer to me being 'cured' then I don't really think that YOU'RE the best candidate to get the job done."

Sam stiffened. "Whats that supposed to mean?" Sam asked. Was Dean talking about his soul again?

Dean smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy." He said, his voice painfully mocking Sam. "I know its been a few years and all, but come on! You haven't really forgotten already, have you? Or did Azazel just not give you the old finger when you were a baby in your world?" He chuckled. "You know, Sammy, I just had a weird thought. I'm a demon, you have some creepy fetish for demon blood, or you used to. I wonder how that'd work out? I could sort of replace Ruby now, couldn't I? Except maybe without the whole thing with making you my little slut and all that." Sam grit his teeth. His definitely did NOT want to be reminded of that. "I guess the point I'm trying to make, Sammy, is that you aren't even human! You're part demon yourself, for christ's sake! So, Sammy, why don't you do me a favor- kindly walk outside, find somebody else to bitch your problems to and kindly go cure yourself."

Sam had the distinct feeling that Dean was telling him to go screw himself.

"You know what, Dean?" Sam said sternly. "You can whine, and insult me, and mess with my mind as much as you want. Its not going to stop me from curing you, and when you are cured, you're going to feel so much guilt about all the crap you just said to me."

"'You're gonna feel so much guilt about all the crap you just said to me'," Dean mimicked. "What is this? Grade school?" He groaned. "Come on, Sammy- do you really think that this devils trap is going to hold me? That these CUFFS are?" He pulled at the rope around his hands. "And this rope... Now, this rope is just pathetic. I've seen girl scouts with better knotting skills then this."

Sam ignored Dean, moving forward to inject the first dosage into Dean's neck. The second Dean felt the cold needle push against his skin, he startled to struggle, and a low, animalistic growl pierced his lips. The growl escalated into a roar as the blood began to course through his veins, and his eyes flashed black. Eventually, Sam yanked the needle out. "I thought I told you to be quiet, Dean." He said.

Dean growled, looking up at Sam. He was panting heavily and sweat was rolling down his forehead from the pain. "... You're a real bastard, you know that, Sammy? I will get you back for this. For everything."

Sam's eyes softened sadly. He couldn't bear to see his brother in this kind of shape. "...Come on, Sam, we should probably leave him." Castiel said.

Sam was skeptical, remembering the last time he had done this in his own world. "... But, Cas- what if he escapes? He could-

"Syiel and Moriel will guard him, make sure that he doesn't try to escape." Castiel reassured, gesturing to the two other angels that had, minutes ago, been restraining Dean. "Besides, you have a right to know what... what the you of this world has done."

"What I've done?" Sam could feel the bile rising in his throat. It had been bad enough finding out that he had killed innocent people the first time around. He knew that this Sam wasn't really him, but if Dean had been just a second too late in stopping him from killing Bobby, then it would have been. This would have been the line in which he would have gone down. "Cas, what have I done in this world?"

Castiel hesitated. "... Come with me. When Dean and I were researching your whereabouts, we found a few related articles. Some of them... are pretty dire, Sam. Some of them also see to have no direct correlation to anything in particular- which leads me to believe that they might be some valuable clues as to what exactly the other you did while Dean was in purgatory."

Sam sighed. He could feel himself getting a migraine already. "... Very well," he said. "What are we waiting for? Shows me the articles, Castiel."


	5. I've Got Some Bad News

Sam felt sick to his stomach. His head was spinning, his vision felt blurred, and for a split instant he didn't know if anything was real or not. "Sam...?" From a far away distance, Sam thought that he heard Castiel's voice. "Are you alright, Sam?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine." Sam murmured. His reassurance obviously wasn't enough to convince Castiel.

"... Maybe it was a mistake to show you these articles." Castiel sighed. "... It wasn't YOU who did this, Sam. Even if you were the Sam from this world, it still wouldn't have been you. He didn't have his soul."

"... I've said it before and I'll say it again. He might not have had his soul, but he was still him, just like I was me when I had no soul. I would have, COULD have done these things, Castiel." Sam argued back. He turned back to the screen to read over the news articles one last time. The knowing of what he was about to read did not lessen the sudden drop in Sam's stomach or jaw at all. The first one wasn't too bad, but it still utterly confused him.

_3 People Found Tortured to Death in Local Town_

_Police burst into a house at 3AM yesterday in an undisclosed country town. The neighbours reportedly heard screams coming from the home, and also said that Mr. Jeffrey, a local waiter at a gourmet Italian restaurant as well as the now-deceased owner of the house had always left home for the late night shift at 8:00 PM. When he didn't, and no activity of him was spotted for several hours after, a concerned neighbour who wishes to remain anonymous phoned the police. Upon knocking and receiving no answer, the police, noting how the car was still in the driveway broke the door down. What they found inside was an incredibly grisly sight. Three the bodies- those belonging to Mr. Jeffrey, as well as his wife and nineteen year old son were found, bound and gruesomely murdered in the living room. They are believed to have been watching television when an intruder had broken in through the living room window, hit them several times and tied them up. This is believed to be the case due to the shattered window in the said room, as well as the fact that multiple intense traumas were found on each body which are not believed to have been concerned with the torture in question- said traumas being far too erratic and misshapen given that the victims were tied up and unable to move around._

_When asked about the crime scene, the detective heading the investigation had this to say. 'This case is perhaps the strangest thing. I've never seen anything like it. We have a whole bunch of suspects, sure, but nobody with a significant motive or means! I would say that it were a thrill killing, but it seems far too planned to have been a thrill killing. For one, the fingerprints have been wiped, incriminating evidence removed... The neighbours say that they saw a car speeding away from the scene of the crime, but upon checking who the owner was they appear to have no direct correlation. The owner even insists that his vehicle was stolen recently, and that checks out. It is as if the real murderer just... vanished, into thin air. Plenty of ends, but no means. Thats not even the half of it. Possibly the strangest thing that we found at the scene of the crime is what leads me to believe that these killings might have been part of some kind of ritual or satanic cult. Under the chairs in which the victims were tied to, we found pentagrams. Yes, pentagrams. Weird, star shape thingies with lots of demonic symbols and crap decorating them. The police are continuing their investigations, as always, though, and so we hope to find something soon."_

Sam stopped reading. The rest was irrelevant. There was no doubt about it- those three had been demons. The devils traps, or what the detective had called 'pentagrams', the lack of a motive... It all added up to that. Sam supposed that it might not have been him- after all, plenty of hunters went after demons- however he didn't know many with the courage to go after an entire family of them, as he had when he had had no soul, nor the brains to wipe their prints and cover their tracks so well. It seemed to fit in too well with the rest of the articles, as well, some of which had descriptions that matched his own to a T. Once or twice, he had even been caught red handed- and most of the other articles were far, far worse then this one was. This one had just been him getting information, or so it seemed. Sam looked over the names of the other articles briefly.

_Class of 26 School Children Found Stabbed To Death_

_100 Presumed Dead in Country Town Fire_

_Country Town Burns down: Accident, or Arson?_

_Local Bank Assault: Lone Survivor Claims culprit 'took his time'._

There were more, as well. Apparently, according to Castiel, Dean had found that Sam had been in each of those places at the time of the crime, and those were just the crimes that Dean and Castiel had tracked him down to. Sam shuddered, thinking about what other massacres this other him could have been responsible for. In each location, he had been seen. He'd been seen in the torched town by a crowd of at least twenty people stealing an unlocked car, carrying a large canister of gasoline under one arm. Hell, there was even a picture of his  _face_ at the bottom of the paper. Well, not quite his a picture, but a fairly accurate sketch none the less. The description checked out in all of the other news articles as well.

Sam shuddered. Even  _without_ a soul, he never would have gone  _this_ far. This wasn't logical, or necessary. This surpassed psychosis. This was downright  _sadistic. Malicious._ This couldn't possibly have been him- it must have been a demon, or a shapeshifter. Maybe he had been possessed- heck, maybe it was a  _leviathan_ in disguise, but it couldn't possibly have been  _him_ in any shape or form. "I... I did all this in the year that Dean was in purgatory...?" He asked, breathlessly.

Castiel nodded solemnly. "... Yes, I'm afraid so." He looked Sam right in the eye. "Sam. When we get the other you back here, he...  _will_ pay for what he has done, d you understand? Up until this point, I have been helping dean to find him, hoping that there was a way to get him back his soul, but... He is hurting people, Sam. We have been looking for years, but if that lost time results in other innocent people's lives...? We might have no choice but to kill him."

"What if its not me?" Sam asked. "It might be a monster, taking on my form, for all you know."

Castiel looked hesitant. "... I want to believe that is true, Sam, I really do. And I will give our Sam every chance he deserves. But if it turns out that it is really him, and not just some monster..."

Sam swallowed. "... Does Dean know?" He asked meekly.

There was silence. Then...

"No."

Sam looked up at Castiel suddenly, staring him in the eyes intensely. "He has a right to know, Castiel. If you're planning to kill me... Or... This worlds me..."

A strict sadness befell Castiel just then, as if he were taking on the weight of one thousand worlds. "... I cannot tell Dean." He said. "He needs to help me find you, Sam. It is a task that I can not do by myself. Not only am I fairly weak at the moment, Sam, but our Sam seems to have warded himself against angels. ... Besides, in his current state, I don't think that telling him would be wise."

"He's going to be furious." Sam said bluntly. "He'll just have found me, and then you'll have to take me away from him, suddenly."

Castiel bit his lip. "... It is not something I enjoy contemplating." He looked up, his eyes suddenly blazen. "Let me tell you this however, Sam. The only reason I did not kill you the second I laid my eyes on you when I found you is because Dean was there. I was ordered to infiltrate the bunker and stop Dean at all costs- I did not know you were there. You are... very lucky that I was able to sense your soul before I made a huge mistake, Sam."

Sam stared at Castiel. "Uh... thanks, Cas. Thats very reassuring." He frowned. "... Tell me, Castiel... do you know where on his body this world's Sam warded himself?"

Castiel blinked. "... I would have no way of knowing." He said. "I take it that you're intending to check whether your body or just your soul got transferred over? ... Forcing a soul out of ones body would take an incredible amount of force, Sam, as would putting one back in. There is a reason why your soul got left behind in hell, you know. So no, Sam, I don't believe that your soul was transferred into our Sam's body. Perhaps you got sent through a portal of some kind?"

"I woke up in what I assume to be the current abode of this world's Sam." Sam said. "If I got sent through a portal, then why would I end up there, and where did the actual Sam go? The door to his motel room wasn't locked, Castiel. If he had left to go somewhere, why wouldn't he lock the door?" Castiel paused, thinking. Before he could give an answer, however, Sam continued. "... Castiel." He said curiously.

"... Yes, Sam?" Castiel said.

"I know that forcing a soul out of ones body to make room for a second soul would require an almost impossible amount of energy, but..." Sam bit his lip. "... What if the souls were swapped?" He knew it was a bit of a stretch. After all, in this world, his soul was supposed to still be in the cage.

Castiel frowned. "... swapped?"

"... Yeah." Sam confirmed. "Like, lets say for instance you had two people. Lets say, uh, Anthony and Tony. ... Would there be any way at all for Anthony's soul to go into Tony's body, and Tony's soul to go into Anthony's body at the same time, without using much power or force, or straining either of the bodies?"

There was silence for a bit, and then Castiel's eyes went wide. "Sam." He said, his voice deadly soft.

"... Yeah?" Sam replied.

"... We need to get you home as soon as possible."


	6. A Ritual Named 'Murder'

"W-why, Cas, whats wrong?" Sam asked. "I mean, it was just a wild stab in the dark. In this world, by soul is still in the cage, so how could-

"There is a ritual." Castiel said bluntly.

"A-a ritual?" Sam repeated.

Castiel nodded. "It is a... very, very powerful ritual, Sam. Very, very few know about it, or have the resources TO know about it. I don't know a single person who would dare to attempt it."

"W-wait, Cas.. I don't understand. You're telling me that there is a ritual to swap souls, one powerful enough to pull my soul out of the cage, or...?"

"... Sort of. Rather, it swaps your soul with... your soul." Castiel said.

Sam frowned, shaking his head. "... What? What does that even mean, Cas?"

Castiel let out a long, agitated sigh. "Basically, its a universe jumping spell." He said slowly. "It finds the you- the you of a local parallel universe, one where maybe one event is different. The mind and the body remain the same as the you of that world, but your soul is essentially carried over on the energy of the universe."

"So, you're saying that... This is not my body? Or my mind?" Sam confirmed.

Castiel nodded. "Yes, Sam. Although there is something you must know which could either be for better or for worse."

Sam could feel dread rising inside of him. He had a feeling that he knew what it was. ".. Yes, Castiel?" He prompted.

"... Because this is the physical body of... our world's Sam you are in, that means that you would also retain the mind and the ... memories of our world's Sam." Castiel explained. "... I don't know when, or where, but it is my theory that you will start receiving flash backs in just a matter of time. It could be days, months... even minutes."

"...Meaning?" Sam asked.

"... Either these memories will help us to find out where you have been and what you have been doing in more detail, Sam, or they could break you." Castiel said. "... Those murders, Sam, were definitely committed by you. It is impossible for them to have been committed by a monster, or you would not be there. It is my belief that in the time Dean was in purgatory, and maybe even before that, our Sam was looking for a way to restore his soul without putting up a wall, without remembering hell. When he found out about the ritual, he killed those people, located your universe and swapped his soul over with yours. ... It was the only way he could do it. After all, he scarred his own vessel by killing Bobby. Another body, however, or a parallel world's Sam..."

There were so many questions flowing through Sam's mind. In detail, what did the ritual involve? If the vessel was scarred, then how was he able to enter it? How had the ritual been so powerful that it had managed to pull his soul out of Lucifer's cage? Castiel seemed to know what he was thinking, however and he continued.

"The ritual, after all, includes a major sacrifice." Castiel said. "To be able to so much as even attempt this ritual, you have to kill about one thousand innocent people."

"Innocent people?" Sam asked.

"People who have not murdered or raped, to be precise." Castiel explained. "That is the reason why I never told Dean about it, or you, when you had no soul. I couldn't be sure that Dean wouldn't try it." He saw Sam's look and immediately added, "I knew that he most likely wouldn't, Sam, but it was just a precaution."

"But... the number of people in those news articles doesn't add up to nearly one thousand." Sam protested. "How was he able to perform the ritual with only about one hundred and fifty dead?"

Castiel was quiet. "... Keep in mind that these are only the massacres that we know about, Sam. And let me be frank in saying this- you aren't exactly the most innocent person when it comes to murder. Being soulless, you probably murdered even more then you could possibly think of in this world, as well."

A pang of fear spread through Sam. He was going to start having memories about... thousands of people? People who died because of him? It had been disturbing enough having memories of two or three people back in his world- he didn't want to think about what these memories were going to do to him. "W-well... if this Sam's vessel was scarred, how was my soul able to enter it? I mean... I'm still technically him, right?"

Castiel look his head. "The body does not belong to you, Sam. You might both be the same person, but your bodies are different. They carry slightly different scars, slightly different memories and molecules- your eyes, Sam, are even a little brighter then the Sam of this world. It is because you are not him, and you did not kill Bobby, that you were able to go into our Sam's body."

"How was the ritual strong enough to pull your Sam's soul out of Lucifers cage?" Sam asked. "I mean, I know it is a powerful ritual and all, but..."

"The ritual involves swapping the souls over. Placing your soul in the other you and vice versa. It saw that the Sam of this world had no soul and placed you in him to clear up the entropy and complete the ritual." Castiel explained.

"... So... This other me... He didn't know if the ritual would land me in his body or back in the cage?" Sam said.

Castiel blinked. "More likely, he didn't care."

"I was a cold son of a bitch, wasn't I?" Sam scoffed. He rubbed his temples, feeling his migraine getting worse. "I am not looking forward to those memories, Castiel."

"Likewise, Sam." Castiel frowned. "I only hope that you will be alright."

"... So, how do we reverse it?" Sam murmured.

Castiel looked away. "Thats the thing." He said. "... I don't know that there is a way. This ritual involves the taking of hundreds of innocent human lives, Sam. Even if we could undo the ritual, it would mostly likely be near impossible. We might even need to perform the ritual again, and that is a task which I am not willing to perform. Under any circumstances."

Sam had long since run out of tears, and yet he could feel a heavy weight on his chest. He had killed more than one thousand people, of which included Bobby. Soon he would remember those murders in vivid detail, he guessed. Dean was a demon, he had no way of getting back that he knew of, and the other him was probably running amuck in his body. The wall protecting the memories of hell had long since broken down in his mind back in his universe, so Sam only hoped that this other him enjoyed the nightmares.

"... What do you propose we do then, Cas? We can't just let this... this... other me run amuck in MY body, back in MY universe. ... I don't particularly want to be stuck in the body of a mass murderer either."

"... No, I'm sure that you don't." Castiel said. "Rest assured, Sam, I will try and find a way. But it will take... time." He said.

"Time? How much time?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know. A few months, maybe years, Sam- I can't say for certain." Castiel said.

Sam threw up his arms. "So, you're pretty much saying that I could be here a life time, is that it...? Thanks, Castiel, thats real helpful. Thanks."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "... I will do everything that I can, Sam." He said. "You're going to need to trust me. ... There is a good chance, you know, that if Our Sam's soul is in your vessel that he will be experiencing intense guilt of his own for everything that he did. He probably won't just be running around throwing those little tea parties that you humans enjoy so much."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "... Tea parties, Cas, really?" He briefly checked the time on the computer screen. "... Its been an hour," he said. "I'd better go and give Dean the next dose."

Castiel nodded. "...Don't let him mess with you, Sam. His soul has been twisted beyond recognition. Its not even Dean anymore."

"... I know, thanks, Cas. I've dealt with this before. In my world." Sam said.

"None the less, I will keep watch from behind the door." Castiel said. "Just in case something does happen."

"Okay, sure." Said Sam. Then he picked up the syringes he needed, Castiel following behind him and headed into the bunker dungeon. At least we know what this Other me was doing the whole time Dean was in purgatory now, he thought bitterly, and he closed the door behind him.


	7. Tracking Dogs

The two angels that had been guarding Dean nodded silently to Sam as they saw him come down the stairs.

"Oh, look whos back." Said Dean.

Sam was terrified. He could feel a sweat breaking out, anger bubbling in his heart and his knees beginning to shake, and so he did one of the things that he and Dean did best. He turned cold. He suppressed the anger, turned his legs and hands to ice and stopped his heart, his face twisting and writhing in a fight for the dominant expression. Would sadness win? Fear? Anger? None of them. Before anything could, he turned his face into the picture of apathy, down to his eyes- cold, hard and lifeless even though he was living.

Not before Dean picked up on it though.

Dean let out a long, cold laugh, throwing his head back. "Aw, look at you, Sammy! Trying to put on the big, non-chalant face for your big demonic brother! How cute. So, what did those articles tell you, Sammy? I found most of those articles myself, you know. I know everything that Castiel showed you. Did he show you the one about that retirement home you massacred? Oh, how about the entire town you burnt to the ground? A hundred people, Sammy? That one has to be one of my favorites. So many innocent people... and not even a motive. Tell me something... Why did you do it?" He asked curiously. "What would possess a man, even in your position, to go out and slaughter so many innocent lives? Was it fun? But then, I just can't imagine your dull, soulless body doing anything that wasn't logical and planned out. I don't think you knew how to have fun."

"I..." Sam began.

"Yeah, yeah, I know it wasn't you." Dean growled. He smiled a little, a cocky, mocking smile. "So... Other-wordly Sam... How are things with your Dean? ... Does he look as good as I do?"

Sam sighed. "... Dean, just be quiet. I'm not in the mood." He began to approach Dean, holding the syringe prepped in one hand.

"Woah, Sammy!" Dean said loudly. He acted as if he were hurt, almost. "Where'd that spunk come from all of a sudden? ... You know I hate shots."

Sam blinked. "... Yeah. He said that as well. My world's Dean, that is." He held the syringe over Dean's arm. "You know, you two are a lot alike. You both seem to think I ruined your lives in some aspect as well. I think you harbor a lot more anger towards me then he does though. Funny."

"Oh, that doesn't surprise me at all." Dean said. "You're just such an easy guy to hate, Sam."

"But you know what, Dean. I know that its not you saying that. Not really. This world's Sam would agree with me, if he were here with his soul. And if I were back in my world and I were facing this situation again? I would know that this wasn't you speaking either."

"... So you're sticking by the idea that I'm going to feel some sort of guilt when you finally manage to turn me back. ... If this even works of course. I don't know why you would think that the whole 'demon cure' thing works in this world. I mean, sure, it works in yours... But who knows. Maybe the laws of nature are different over here. Maybe gravity is off by a whole... two points, or something." Dean scoffed. Then his face softened, and he turned away. "...I don't know. Maybe if I turned back, Sam, maybe I wouldn't feel so angry towards you."

That last line surprised Sam, and he froze, his composure faltering for a second. Dean was a demon, right? His soul was corrupted and twisted. He felt nothing but pure evil inside of him, and he was directing all of that at Sam. So.. why had he just said that? Dean was supposed to be playing with his mind, convincing him that even if Sam did somehow manage to turn him back that Dean would still hate him. Dean was still in there somewhere, and even the corruption of a demon couldn't hide the true him fully.

"..Of course, then again, I probably would." Dean snickered.

Sam's surprise turned into icey hardness once again, and he pressed the needle into Dean's arm, ignoring the yells that followed.

Through the gasps of pain, Dean looked up, his eyes pure black. "I get why you drank that demon blood, Sam." He said. "...Evil is addicting." Sam looked away, clenching his fists. "... Do you want to know what it feels like? ... To actually BE a demon, I mean? To have your soul physically twisted and ruined inside of you?" When Sam didn't reply for a good five seconds, he continued. "... Its painful, Sammy. You know when Castiel touched your soul that one time? Take the agony of that, Sam, and imagine how painful it would be if someone took your soul, poured tar and knives into it, physically bent it and shoved the crumpled thing back into you. Imagine all the pain of hell, and the torture of your soul that you and I both experienced, and then pour all that pain directly into it. ... Demons are born, Sammy, because your soul is physically corrupted down in hell, just as mine is now." He chuckled. "... I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"... Neither do I." Sam said. "So stop. Or I'll give you third dose early."

Dean knew he wouldn't. He knew Sam couldn't do anything about it, and so he started snickering. Sam ignored him, throwing the empty syringe down on the ground as he went and walked up the stairs to where Castiel was waiting.

"...How'd it go?" Castiel asked sympathetically.

Sam sighed. "... I just injected a dose of torture into my brother." He said. "... How do you think it went, Castiel?"

Castiel looked away. "...You're right." He said. "I'm sorry."

Sam ignored Castiel's apology and stretched, reaching his arms up. "...I'm going to go and get something to drink." He said. ".. I think I've earnt it. .. Want anything?"

"No, Sam, you can't." Castiel said sternly.

Sam frowned. "Why not?"

"The police are on high alert looking for somebody who matches your description. ... I am surprised that the receptionist didn't call the cops on you when they saw you exiting the motel, or even that they didn't recognize a mass murderer from the news as one of their customers." Castiel said. "It would be incredibly unwise to go out in public. You'd be arrested before you could say, 'I'm no longer soulless'."

Sam looked bewildered. "... This day just keeps getting better and better." He said. "...Then, can't you go out and get some drinks, Castiel?"

Castiel paused. "... Okay." he said finally. "Just make sure that Dean is guarded well, okay?"

Sam nodded. He sighed. "... Thanks, Castiel." When Castiel left, Sam walked over to the computer. He wanted to have one last check of the news articles, just to make sure there was nothing that he had missed. He sat down, turned the power on and got onto the news site that he wanted. Before he could find the articles that he was looking for, however, the latest news updates caught his eye.

The headline he read made his heart skip a beat.

'Suspected Mass-Murderer 'Stayed at Local Motel' Until About 6PM Last Night'

And there was the sketch of his face again.

And the motel that he had left last evening.

His heart racing in his chest, he spared no time in opening up the news article and reading from the top.

Today, at 6PM, the police got a call from a Miss. Amanda Yanning. Amanda, who had been on her shift as the receptionist of a local motel said that apparently a young man had checked into her motel that morning. She claimed that she had only read one or two articles on the suspect at the time and that she had only gotten a few hours sleep the prior night, making her groggy and unfocused. She claimed that that was the reason why she had not recognised the man immediately. Amanda had been browsing the news at around 5:40PM when she had coincidentally stumbled across a recent police sketch of the man's face. The receptionist said that this was when she realised that something was wrong, and that she had done a little more research on the matter. When she remembered the man who had checked in to her motel, she had gone into the backroom to call the police. It was during this time that she reportedly heard the sound a person leaving, the door slamming as if they were in a hurry, and she had raced back out again. Amanda claims to have caught a glimpse of a strange, large brown-haired man driving past the motel in vehicle, however this person is not confirmed to be the suspect. This person had left by the time Amanda got out of the backroom, and upon the police arriving, they discovered that the suspect's room was empty and unlocked. This man, who has been seen at the scene of more then ten different massacres, often with incriminating evidence, is believed by most police officials to be the perpetrator of said massacres. Despite police efforts, however, no information has been uncovered. His very nature- his name, age, profession- everything surrounding him seems to have been tampered with or erased, and he is usually gone by the time police arrive. As such, this is a very important discovery that might help track this person down for questioning and possible arrest.

So, it appeared as if the receptionist HAD recognized one of her customers- or him- as a mass murderer from the news. That had been the reason, ironically, that she had gone into the backroom. She had gone in to phone the police, and that had been the very diversion that Sam had used to escape. This didn't change things. Not really. Sure, it was possible that this world's Sam had chosen to leave his motel without locking the door as he had an escape to make, but that didn't explain the hundreds of killings, or him by a long shot.

What Sam had to worry about now was being tracked down.

He knew police procedures well enough from his years of faking an FBI agent. Checking the time briefly, he saw that it was about four o'clock in the morning- just before dawnbreak. Ten hours. The police could look at the motel's location, and they could narrow down his list of possible locations based on that time. After all, if it had been ten hours since he had gotten here, he could be at any location that was less then ten hours from the motel.

He could feel himself shuddering from relief that he had parked the stolen car a while away from the bunker.

Still, they could find the owner of the car he had stolen. That wouldn't be too hard, given how only one car had been stolen from that motel at around 6PM. They could ask him what the license plate number had been, and then... well... people had seen him driving the car. He was suspected of the murders of hundreds of people, and Sam was sure that they would have a big team on the case. All they had to do was to was ask around a little, and, if he was unlucky, they would find someone who had seen which way he was going. They might even have seen his liscense plate. Or him.

Sure, he was getting paranoid now- the chances of that happening were too slim.

But, on the other hand, he had had to stop for gas about half way through... The person in the shop had seen him for sure.

Come to think of it, the person at the counter had seemed a little uncomfortable when speaking to him...

Sam shook his head violently. These were all tiny, tiny things. He doubted that the police would be able to track him down based on them. After all, ten hours in any direction was a big area and even if they were able to narrow it a little from the shop employee, the chances of them finding him were still slim at best. Then there was the fact that the employee had to call the police first. What if it was all just in his head, and he hadn't actually been recognised? All Sam could do was pray and hope that he hadn't been.

"Sam."

Sam almost fell back in his chair at the sound of Castiel's voice. Quickly, he regained his composure, brushing his hair back awkwardly with a hand. "Y-yeah, Castiel? Did you get the drinks?" Don't sneak up on me like that, he thought to himself.

"I'm afraid all of the local pubs and liquor stores were closed." Castiel said. "I did, however, manage to get you a Slurpee from 7/11." His emotionless face not faltering a bit, he revealed the drink and placed it on Sam's desk.

Sam stared at the Slurpee for about twenty seconds and then collapsed on his desk, the edges of it painfully cutting into his face. He let out a long sigh. "... Thanks, Cas." He murmured. This day definitely could not get any worse. He sat up half-heartedly. "Listen, I've been doing some more prying whilst you were gone. Apparently, the receptionist DID recognise me, and she called the police around the same time that I left."

"Is there any possibility of her tracking you?" Castiel demanded.

"... I don't think so. Not if we're lucky." Sam said. "But there is no way to be sure of the exact number of people who saw me."

Castiel frowned. "Come to think of it, I saw a few police officers at the seven eleven." Castiel said. "They were questioning a member of the shop's staff."

Sam could feel the dread rising inside of him. "... Where was this seven eleven, Cas?"

"... About 10 minutes from here." Castiel said. "The employee said something about seeing a car 'similar to that' park park a little while away from the store. I didn't catch the context, but he might have been talking about you."

"He was." Sam groaned. "... I remember there being a seven eleven next to me when I stopped the car." He buried his face in his hands. "... If I had known that I was a wanted criminal, Cas, trust me, I wouldn't have."

"They'll be able to track you easily from there, Sam." Castiel said. There was a slight note of urgency to his voice. "... We have to go." He began to grab at belongings, shoving them into a bag.

Sam grabbed Castiel's arm, stopping him. "B-but we can't just leave." He protested. "W-what about Dean? He's still down in the dungeon! If the police find him-

"If the police find us," Castiel said sternly, wrenching his arm out of Sam's way. He continued to shovel items into the bag he was holding. "... Then we'll have a lot more to worry about then some chained up demon. Trust me, Sam, when I say you're facing a death penalty here."

"How about those two angels who are guarding him?" Sam insisted.

"I'm sure they'll figure out that something has happened." Castiel said. "They can sense whether we're here or not, then theres the angel radio and a lot of other factors. They'll leave and find me, and they'll probably even try to take Dean with them. ... I doubt if that will be successful, however."

"... I haven't cured him yet." Sam said softly. "... I might not get to cure him. He might never see his brother again as a human, Castiel."

"Trust me Sam, I hardly want to do go anymore then you do." Castiel said. "But also trust me when I say that we have to go."

They began to race for the door, feet scrambling against the hard floor and hearts racing. Sam had just closed his sweaty fingers around the door knob and was preparing to fling it open and make a run for it when he was stopped, frozen with the blood in his veins turning to ice. Just then, from the other side of the door, came a loud, demanding knock.

"Police!" Came a gruff voice, and Sam felt a little piece of him die inside.


	8. Daughter

Sam took a deep breath, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. Then, he reached up, hesitated a few seconds, and slowly opened the door. Sure enough, standing at the bunker door was a police man. Sam registered mild surprise on his face when he saw Castiel and him standing there. "... Hello." The policeman said. He paused, craning his neck to see inside the bunker. "... This your home? I was a little skeptical when I heard anyone lived here, to be honest."

Sam frowned. "... Yeah, well, its a little cramped at times, but its... home." He said cautiously. Home. That was a lie. Sam didn't have a home. Sure, the bunker was probably the nicest place him and Dean had settled down in a long time. It had electricity, running water- Sam even had his own bedroom. But it was just that, a bedroom. A place for sleeping, and the bunker was a place for working. He got Dean and how he liked to think of having somewhere more personal, but Sam would much rather have preferred to sleep in the company of others. He felt more secure that way.

"Ah." The policeman responded. He looked over at Castiel briefly. "Anyway, would the two of you please come with me? We have significant evidence to suggest that your larger friend might be involved in some... things." He bit his lip, frowning. "... I'd also like to look around your abode, if thats alright."

Its probably nothing?

That is also a lie, Sam thought to himself. This bunker is one of the only places I could be, you found the stolen car nearby, and you've seen the sketches. Just looking at me I can tell how nervous you are. Lets be honest- the second I opened that door, you knew that you'd found the right person. Drop the whole good-cop act, for gods sake. That is what Sam wanted to say. "Well, that depends." Sam said instead, his voice icy. "Do you have a search warrant?"

The officer fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well... No, sir."

"Then I have a right to deny your request for a search." Sam paused, sighing. "I will come with you though." If there were two things that Sam didn't want this police man discovering, they were the symbols lining the walls and the potential lawsuit he had tied up in the dungeon. The police officer seemed content with the compromise that Sam offered, even a little pleased with himself however and led them both outside to the waiting police car. For a moment, Sam even thought that it would be a fairly casual ride, that he wasn't even the main suspect- until he felt the handcuffs being clicked around his and even Castiel's wrists.

As he was crammed into the back of the vehicle, he could feel a serious case of bitch face coming on. "... Probably nothing?" Sam scoffed.

The police officer pursed his lips, adjusting the rear view mirror. "... Yeah, well, its a precaution." He said.

Sam frowned. "... Whatever you say."

"... I get the handcuffs for my friend." Castiel piped up. "... After all, he is the suspect for the massacre of around one thousand people. But I am confused as to why I need to be put in them?"

Sam glared at Castiel.

"As I said, its a precaution. We have no way in knowing whether you, Trench-Coat, are concerned in any of your friends charges, or even whether you two are the real perpetrators yet." He looked purposefully back at Sam, narrowing his eyes. "All we have is... evidence. And a lot of it."

The ride was silent for the rest of the way. This was definitely not the first time Sam had been arrested, but he had usually been with Dean at the time. Dean would usually start trying to talk to the driver or to break the silence in some way. If he got no answer when he tried to start up a conversation, he'd usually start going off on some personal monologue of his own creation or even just singing classic rock songs to piss everyone in the car off. Sam didn't see the point. Getting arrested wasn't fun, and unlike Dean, he wasn't going to try and make it fun, or to pretend that everything was alright. He wasn't that kind of person, and he took punishments as he saw them fit. Because of this, he didn't speak a word until the car had stopped in front of the detention center, and until he had been crammed into an uncomfortable, small room, sitting in a chair at a dimly lit table.

Castiel was waiting outside, and he was waiting for whoever it was who was going to interrogate him to hurry the heck up. The sooner he could get out of here, one way or another, the better.

Preoccupying himself, Sam began to tap on the table with a finger, looking down at the table's surface and allowing himself to fade into a pit of his own thoughts. He was so immersed in his own mind that he almost didn't notice when the door to the room finally creaked open and a young woman stepped in, holding a stack of papers under her arm. She sat down, shuffled in, and cupped her hands on the table. "So." She said, staring at him. "Sam Winchester, I presume?"

The use of his name jolted Sam back to reality, and he addressed the woman sitting before him. A slight sense of confusion began to fill him. "... Oh, uh... yes." He said. "... How do you know my name? ... I thought they said that all information about 'the suspect' was missing."

The woman pursed her lips, forcing a smile. "... Yes, that's true. We managed to take fingerprints at two of the areas, Sam. We couldn't find who they belonged to- only that the fingerprints were the same at each location. Heck, the only thing we had to go on was witness sightings. We got a fairly accurate sketch of your face, Sam- I'm sure you've seen the pictures on the news, given how you apparently fled from that motel like a scared rabbit. And no, before you ask, I didn't get your name from that motel, either. You faked your name, actually- a Mr. Samuel Danister, if I remember correctly." She leaned forward a little. ".. Clever alias, but then, you're fairly well trained in those kinds of things, aren't you?"

Sam frowned. "... If you didn't get my name from any evidence, then... how?"

"The sketches." The woman said. "As I said, that's all we had to go off of. When I saw those sketches, I knew it was you, Sam. The others didn't believe me- after all, you and your brother apparently died in a fire, correct? And there are only so many times that you can fake your death. ... Unless, of course, you're a Winchester, right? It seems to be becoming a regular thing for you."

"... I'm sorry, do I know you?" Sam murmured.

The woman smirked and then shook her head. "No, Sam. You don't know me. .. One thing I don't get is why he would do it."

"Do what...? Who?" Sam was getting more and more confused by the second, especially as this woman seemed determined not to answer any of his questions properly.

"... Well, I mean, he said that you and Dean both died in a fire, right? He helped you to fake your death. ... It just confuses me as to why he would help you. He wasted half of his life trying to find you, to put you away forever, and then he just turned around and let you go. So, what? Did you threaten him? Bribe him? ... I don't get it. All I know is that he wasted so much of his life on you and your brother, so much so that he hardly ever even looked at me. He was too busy with his work."

"... Ma'am... Who are you?" Sam demanded.

He jumped back as the woman slammed the balls of her hands down on the table, leaning in so much that they were almost nose to nose. "Tell me something, Sam. How much do you remember about a man called 'Victor Henriksen'? You know, the big, bad cop who kept chasing down Dean and your tails? Well, I hope you remember a lot about about him, because I'm about five times as scary. I'm his daughter."

For a split second, Sam could feel his heart stop.


	9. The Questioning

"Y-you're...?" Sam began. He faltered, searching for the words. "... Look," he said. "I'm sorry about your father and all that, I know that you must have loved him a lot, but-

"Ha!" The woman before him scoffed, throwing her head back. "Loved him? I hated the man." Sam furrowed his brow in confusion as the woman continued. "He never paid any attention to me- he ignored me, neglected me and pushed me to the side. But you know why he forgot I existed?" Her eyes burned deep into Sam's soul, the fire in them physically making Sam ill. "Because of you and your brother. You ruined him, ruined me, and even though I hated him he didn't deserve to die how he died!" She paused, her expression changing curiously. "... Speaking of your brother. Where is he?"

"... I don't know." Sam said. "We split up a while back. Haven't seen him since."

"Don't lie to me, Sam." The woman growled. "The way my father talked about you- I know you would never split up with your brother. You committed a lot of murders together over the past couple of years- and chances are you performed these massacres together as well. So tell me- where is Dean really? That abandoned water treatment plant that you two call a home? I had a hard time convincing them to look for you there, you know. We sent teams out to the one or two motels that you could have been at it, even checked some abandon shack a little while down the road- I knew you wouldn't stay at a motel though. You're obviously smart, you and your brother. Why would you stay at a motel where somebody might recognize you after already being recognized once? That would just be too dangerous. So, I made them check the most unlikely areas as well. And just as I imagined, you were at the water treatment facility. So, I'm guessing your brother is as well."

Sam blinked. All he could do was pray and hope that the angels had gotten Dean out safely. "... Fine." He said. "... Search the bunker, if you don't believe me. You won't find Dean there."

The woman smiled. "... No, no doubt we won't. He would have fled by now, if he had any common sense." She sighed. "None the less, I suppose it couldn't hurt to send a team to check. I assume we have your permission?"

"Oh, by all means." Said Sam, icily.

Using the same passive-aggressive tone as Sam, she walked over to the cell's phone. "... Good." She looked at him, still smiling falsely. It was an expression that Sam didn't bother to return.

Sam sat, staring at his cuffs until she walked back over to him and sat down at the table, tapping the pile of documents that she had placed on it. "Now, Sam, lets move on to more pleasant matters, shall we?" She said. "My name happens to be Julia Henriksen, and I'm the person leading the investigation behind these massacres, as well as the person who is going to be questioning you and your friend." She leaned forward on one arm. "Who is he, by the way, Sam? ... Don't think my father reported anything about some fish eyed pansy in a trenchcoat. ... He involved with the massacres? Perhaps hes one of those 'demons' that you and your brother are apparently so obsessed with?" She chuckled. "... Funny, when my father talked about how nutty you were in his case files, I was expecting more along the lines of some end-of-the-world preacher. You know, 'the end is nigh', 'the mayan apocalypse', all that good stuff?" She shook her head. "You, Sam... You seem almost seem some shade of normal."

"... His name is Castiel." Sam said. "And he's not a demon."

"Well, good, at least you have some sense about you. Because no, Sam, he's not a demon. He's not a vampire, a werewolf, a mummy- he's a human, Sam. And if I hear one little peep out of you about 'monsters' or any of that good stuff, I'll have you on the first train to a mental hospital. Got me?" Julia said.

Sam looked up at her, his eyes cold. "... Got you." He echoed.

Julia nodded. "Then that will make my job a lot easier. So, lets start with what Castiel was doing at your bunker, shall we? We couldn't find any information on him in the systems- he might even have less ties then you, Sam. Almost like he never existed in the system to begin with." She paused. "... Don't you think thats a little strange?"

Sam looked up, his expression unwavering. "Very." he said. No, he thought to himself. That wasn't strange at all. Castiel hadn't been born on earth- at least, certainly not during a time when computers had existed, or even databasing of any sort. It was no surprise to Sam that Castiel didn't exist within the computer systems. "And as for what Castiel was doing at the bunker...? He was helping me with something."

"What something?" Julia demanded.

"I have no obligation to answer any of your questions." Sam said. "I know my rights."

Julia backed off, chuckling a little. "... Very well, Sam. No, you don't have any obligation. But just remember- the smallest squeak or whimper out of you, and I will exercise my right to make sure that it puts you away for life."

"Then I'll just have to make sure I don't say a word." Sam retorted.

"Very well, Sam- you don't need to." Julia snickered. "Just remember- we know that you're linked to this. We have a lady who said that she saw you leaving that motel- in a car that we just so happened to find near you. Not to mention all the astoundingly accurate witness accounts we have of you being at the scene of some, if not all of the massacres. That alone is enough to build a case, and even if you won't speak I'm sure that your friend might. Or Dean, when we find him. Don't forget about those witnesses I mentioned."

Sam frowned. "I get it." He said, but Julia continued.

"You make me sick, Sam. When my father was on the case, you and your brother tortured, robbed and desecrated, definitely- but this? This is on a whole other level for you. Now, along with identity theft, torture, robbery, grave desecration and all those beautiful gems, you can face several counts of first degree murder and arson, too- some of them of children for god's sake." Julia stared at Sam, glowering. "And you know, theres a sure fire way to find out if you were actually at the scene of the crimes or not."

"Whats that?" Asked Sam.

"Fingerprints." Julia said. "As I mentioned before, we managed to take some samples from a few of the crime scenes, Sam. All we need to do is run some checks on your fingerprints and if they match..." She ran a finger along her throat. "Boom."

"Even if the fingerprints match," argued Sam. "that doesn't necessarily mean that I was the one who committed the murders."

"No, but it would prove that you had the means and the time to commit them, within reason. ... In fact, Sam, all we're missing is a motive. And hopefully we can get that out of your fish-eyed friend, or your brother."

"Well according to you, I'm a nutcase. Who knows, maybe I killed all those people for some satanic ritual to swap my soul with some me from another universe." Sam rolled his eyes. See, he thought to himself. You wouldn't believe the truth if I told it to you first hand. He added quickly, "Not an admission of guilt, by the way."

"Well, we'll see." Julia said. "Now, Sam, I'm going to take your fingerprints and question your friend, alright? We'll continue this little chat later on. In the mean time, get used to your holding cell, because if I have anything to do about it I'm going to make sure that's where you spent the rest of your time."' Just then, the phone rang. Julia moved over to it and picked it up, glancing quickly at Sam. "Hello?" She said into the receiver. Sam strained to hear what was being said. He could hear Julia loud and clear but he couldn't quite make out what what was being said by the person over the other end. He attempted to piece together what he could from what Julia was saying, however. Mostly it was just little things like 'mm hm' and 'oh really?', so it was hard. Finally, Julia placed the phone back down on the hook. Sam didn't like the blend of emotions playing across her face, nor the cocky smirk that she was developing.

"So, Sam." Julia said, sitting back down.

Sam looked up. "Hm?" He said.

"They found Dean."

Sam felt his heart sink.

"And well... I must say, I'm very curious as to what happened between you two." Julia tilted her head. "... Did he say, see something you didn't like? Is this how you practice doing your murders? Because, last time I checked, normal people didn't tie up their brothers in the basement."

"I can explain." Sam said hastily. No, he couldn't. Nothing he could say would make any sense in any case.

"Save it, Sam." Julia said. "They're bringing Dean in for questioning and they're performing a little investigation. From what I heard, they found an empty syringe on the ground that might be of some interest." She signalled to the guard to take Sam away and headed towards the door. As she went, she looked briefly back over her shoulder. "Just saying Sam- Even if we don't have solid evidence that you committed most of these massacres, finding Dean tied up in the basement is incriminating enough. And it proves that you two are alive- so don't think that the charges are dropped." She paused. "Unlike you, Sam, Dean's fingerprints are in the system. One check through and we'll know if its actually him or not."

"... Did they find anyone else there?" Sam asked. He was curious as to whether or not the two angels guarding Dean had gotten away safely.

"... No." Julia said. "Why, should they have?"

Sam looked up at her. The corner of his mouth twitched a little, and his eyes were icy. "No." He replied back bluntly. "They shouldn't have."


	10. Scores to Settle

They took Sam's fingerprints and he was escorted down the corridor to a holding cell. As he walked, he strained to hear what was being asked to Castiel, but the words exchanged between Julia and him faded into the distance, mixing together and blurring inexplicably. He sighed as he was rounded into a small cell, hearing the door close with a bang and a click behind him.

He still felt sick to the stomach when he thought about how some other Sam's soul was running around in his body, doing god knew what. He imagined Dean, and what things had been said to him. Had the other Sam lied to Dean, pretended to be his little brother, or had he told Dean the truth- that he had virtually replaced his brother with a complete stranger- somebody with different memories and values to the Sam that Dean knew so well? He could imagine how angry Dean would be if that were the case. He would probably have locked this other him in the panic room and he would be trying to get him back in his own body at this very moment.

It was because this was the case that Sam supposed this other him wouldn't have told the truth at all.

Sam sat there, waiting for a good half an hour. By this point, the sun was beginning to creep up over the horizon, and although he could not see it from the cell's singular, tiny window, he knew that the sky would most likely be radiating a brilliant shade of orange by now. He looked up when he heard footsteps, following by the sound of a key clicking in a lock and finally the door creaked open to reveal a police officer- and to his left, Dean.

Sam felt his heart skip a beat.

"Woah, woah, woah- you can't put me in here with him!" Sam protested, looking at Dean.

The police officer just shrugged. "This is the only available holding cell we've got, I'm afraid. Besides, the last time I checked, it was you who tied him up- not the other way around."

"I didn't drug him!" Sam argued.

The police officer scoffed. "We'll see- his blood-test results come in tomorrow." He left, locking the cell behind him, and then Sam was left alone, watching Dean cautiously like a mouse when cornered by a cat.

"It was hard, you know Sammy?" Dean said. The sudden sound made Sam jump. "Very hard- resisting the urge to rip that guys throat out, that is. Don't even get me started on the bitch who took my blood sample."

Sam didn't reply. He was too busy concentrating, watching for the smallest movement Dean made. Even without a weapon to aid him, he knew from experience just how dangerous Dean could be when he was like... this.

"I don't think I ever paid you back properly, did I? For what you did to me down in that basement, that is. ... Well, we're alone, Sammy, so we can have all the fun we want." Dean chuckled. "... Well, it'll probably be slightly more fun for me then for you, but thats besides the point." He took a step towards Sam, making Sam recoil. Sam's frightened movements sent another wave of chilling laughter cascading out of Dean's jaws, and Sam, feeling the heart in his chest beating ten fold, raised his arms defensively.

"... Don't come near me, Dean." Sam warned, but the words came out meeker then he expected them to.

Dean squinted, laughing. "... Or what?" He said. He threw his arms up, making long, mocking gestures with his wrists and fingers. "Last time I checked, Sammy, you're already in hot water."

"Yeah? Well, so are you." Sam spoke through his teeth. "...We're both in this boat together, Dean. So there's no point in hurting one another. ... Please, just stand down for now."

"Please, Sammy- I could slaughter every man, woman and child in this building if I really wanted to, but that wouldn't be as much fun. The only reason I let them bring me all the way to you without laying a finger on them was so that I could have this moment- to be able to see your scared, ridiculous puppy dog eyes before I rip them out of your skull." Dean said. "The second I'm through getting my revenge, I'm busting out of this crap-joint."

Sam looked around desperately for a way to escape as Dean took another step towards him. "Please, Dean." Sam tried. "Please, just... Stay back."

Dean smirked, still approaching Sam. His eyes flashed to black, and he shook his head. "... No, Sammy." He said. "... I don't think so."

Dean began to raise his arm, and as he did so, Sam begun to feel cold- as if somebody had just frozen him from the inside out. At first, he thought his muscles must have been paralyzed, or even just numb- but when something hard slammed into Sam and he felt his nose break, he realized what was actually happening. Dean had just thrown him across the room. Picked him up with his demonic powers, raised him high into the air and smashed him into the opposing wall.

It hurt.

Badly.

Sam barely had time to make a noise or even to comprehend the pain ringing in his nostrils when a second shattering pain shot through him- this time in his skull. He felt as if Dean must have shattered something, but the confusion and agony was so great that he didn't know where. He attempted to scream at Dean, to tell him to stop, but his ears were ringing too much to tell if the sound reached his brother or not, or if all he had said had just come out as a terrified gargle. If Dean had heard him, he certainly showed no sign of it. Sam felt the wind gather around his feet as Dean slammed him into the concrete floor like a basketball through a hoop, and he heard a loud crack as his face collided with the pavement.

Again, and again, and again, Sam felt himself being crushed into wall after wall, floor after floor until he was nothing but a broken mess. Finally, after what felt like hours, he was allowed to drop to the ground, to recover, and that was when the pain set in. A pain so intense, that Sam didn't even know what was broken and was not. It felt like his organs had been torn to shreds, his bones had been shattered and then misplaced and his skin and been flayed slowly from his body. He had been to hell, he knew what all of those things felt like, and yet this was pain that complimented even that. As the ringing in his ears stopped and his vision cleared, he looked up from his crumpled position, looked up like a beaten down dog and searched frantically around for Dean. Eventually, he found him. Dean was standing over him, his eyes black and malicious, and he was smiling.

As Dean approached him, Sam attempted to crawl out of the way. Dean started to laugh, amused by Sam's futile attempts to get away from him, and that laughter only escalated as Sam's leg gave out with a painful crunch and he fell to the ground with a cry. "Come on, Sammy." Dean taunted. "You're not afraid of me now, are you?" Sam grit his teeth and clenched his eyes in overwhelming pain as Dean continued to chuckle, kicking him in the side again and again, each passing kick harder then the last.

"Why don't you just finish me off, then, Dean?" Sam said defiantly. The strength in his voice surprised him, particularly in his current position.

"Why would I do that?" Dean said. He scoffed. "I want you to suffer like this for a while. Besides, chances are, you'll get the death penalty anyway. Or, if you're lucky, you'll just be shipped off to some high security prison and forced to stay there, knowing that you'll never get back to your own world or see your brother again." He looked down at Sam and raised his eyes at the bloody mess that he'd created. "Sure, they'll probably give me the death penalty as well, knowing my charges- or they might try if I stuck around here for much longer." Dean began to head for the door to the cell. "Adios, Sammy!" Through his cloudy vision and quickly fading hearing, Sam was able to see and hear Dean calling for help, tricking some poor guard into unlocking the cell door.

He was luring someone to the cell so that Dean could kill them and bust out. A surge of fear washed through Sam, and as he began to slip into unconsciousness, he managed a feeble croak that was lost in the air. "Don't..."

Then, his vision faded to black, and he lost consciousness.


	11. Third Times a Charm

"N-no, please, stop... Why are you doing this?'

"I'm sorry, but I need to do this."

"Y-you're insane! H-how... why... God, please help me! Please! I'll give you anything you want- money, valuables- anything! I-if this about the blackmail, I-I'll send him the money I owe him, I-I swear! Just d-don't... Please!"

"I don't get why people always beg for their lives. Its not going to stop me."

"Please... please just put the knife down..."

"... I'm sorry. ... I'm sure you'll go to heaven. ... Maybe."

The sound of ripping flesh, followed by an earsplitting scream woke Sam from his sleep. He felt chills run down his spine and looked around frantically to see where the scream had came from. When he realized that the scream had come from the man in his dream, the chills didn't stop. He thought that they should have- after all, it was just a dream. Nothing more. It had seem so vivid, so real, almost.

It had been him, actually. He had seen himself, in some person's house, holding a knife. There was a man tied to a chair, and he was preparing to...

Sam swallowed. Maybe that was why the chills didn't go away. What if it wasn't only a dream? What if it had been a memory? ... What if it was one of those flashbacks that Castiel had said he was going to start experiencing?

Castiel.

Where was Castiel?

Disorientation and confusion struck Sam like lightning. Where was Castiel, and for that matter, where was he? He tried his best to remember what had happened in the events leading up to and after his unconsciousness, but the memories were hazy, like a dream. They were there, he could tell- they were just... a bit out of reach. Sam looked around at his surroundings, which didn't help his confusion in the slightest. He was in a white room, laying on what appeared to be a... hospital bed? A misplaced sense of morbidity washed over him, although he wasn't sure why. All Sam knew was that there was something important, something awful that had happened, and somebody who he had to find...

The memory hit Sam like a freight train.

It was all coming back to him now- Dean, the prison, his situation... He suddenly felt like he had to retch. What had Dean done? Had he actually slaughtered the entire prison? How had they gotten him here? ... Was Castiel okay? ... He assumed that Castiel was most likely, as his wounds seemed to have vanished without a trace.

"Hey!" Sam yelled as loudly as he could. His voice felt hoarse and dry, however, and the effort hurt. ... How long had he been out for...? "Hey, I'm awake in here!"

It wasn't long before a doctor came running in. "Oh, thank goodness- we we're wondering when you were going to wake up." He said.

Sam attempted to sit up, but a sharp pain in his side told him that was a bad idea. "... How long was I out for?" Sam asked frantically. "Please, I need to know."

Confused by the desperation in his voice, the doctor frowned. "... Uh, we should probably check your vitals and make sure everything is okay so that we can send you home, first- if you have any friends or family we should inform them, as well-

"Just tell me!" Sam snapped.

"... You were brought in about a day ago- pretty dang early in the morning, too." The doctor said. He frowned. "... May I ask why its so important?"

Sam shook his head, ignoring the doctor's question. "... Tell me," he said, breathlessly. "How did I get here?" The look of hesitation on the doctor's face almost made Sam's heart sink.

"... You were brought in by someone." The doctor said, finally. "They were wearing a trench-coat, if you know anyone who dresses like that? ... They said that they knew you. ... He didn't really look like he was in the best shape, either, to be perfectly frank. Seemed incredibly weak, like the man was about to collapse- we had him admitted- although I'm not sure which room he's in. As for the specifics of where he said he found you..." He bit his lip. "... I think its best that he tells you, or that you find out on your own. The details are a little... grisly."

Sam didn't like the last word. Grisly. Chances were, that was an understatement. He didn't think that Dean had been joking when he said he could murder every man, woman and child in the prison center at his own leisure. "... Can you find out which room for me, please?" Sam murmured.

The doctor seemed a little taken back, however he quickly nodded. "... Sure." He said.

Sam could feel the sweat rolling down his forehead as he lay there, sighing in both exasperation, exhaustion and relief. He had just woken up from a literal days rest and yet he felt like he was running on a bare minimum two hours sleep. He drowned out the doctors and patients moving around in the corridors outside his room and stared up at the ceiling, thinking back on the events that had led up to this, about what the worst that could have happened was and even about that strange dream he had had. Eventually, he thought that he had a fairly good picture of what had happened, at least up until a point. And although there was so much information swirling around in his mind, Sam could still only focus on one thing.

Dean had beat him to near death.

Beat him to near death and enjoyed it.

Sam tried to tell himself that it wasn't Dean, that Dean was a demon, and yet he could remember. He had been laying on the ground, broken and bleeding out while Dean had stepped on his fingers and kicked him and kneed him in the crotch, and he had been crawling away, trying to get away, terrified while Dean had been smiling, laughing at how pathetic he looked.

Sam could feel the goosebumps running up and down his skin.

He hadn't given up hope yet, however. He would never give up hope for his brother, not in any world. And if this world's Dean had spent so long looking for his little brother, then Sam thought that he could spend a little while giving some of that effort back.

Sam sat up when he heard the doctor return. "So, good news." The doctor said. "Your friend is in the room three down from yours- so, fairly convenient." He chuckled- a gesture which Sam didn't bother to return.

"Thanks." Sam said. He sat up, brushed himself off and hastily made his way down the hallway to Castiel's room, trying to ignore his overwhelming grogginess and nausea. Images of how terrifying Dean had been flashed through his mind uncontrollably, giving him a worse and worse headache with each one. Every now and again, the vivid memories of his dream would intercept, slipping through the cracks in the form of himself, emotionlessly sharpening a knife or of the man that he had stabbed. Whenever he thought of it, he could only think about how it was likely something that he had actually done, and it made him physically sick knowing that there were possibly hundreds of other people he had slaughtered- probably in worse ways. His hands almost slipping off from the sweat rolling off of them, he gripped the door knob and turned it, entering the room to find Castiel.

Cas was sitting up on his bed, his head drooped down. He looked almost as bad as Sam felt-his hair was unkempt, his trench-coat ripped and bloody- a worrying sight. "Castiel." Sam said. He closed the door behind him, and Castiel looked up.

The second Castiel saw him, his eyes went wide and he got up quickly. "Thank god you're awake." Castiel said. "Sam, there isn't any time to explain much- we need to find Dean. Now."

"I don't get whats going on, Cas! What did Dean do? Who was hurt?" Sam demanded.

Castiel gave Sam a patronizing look, like a mother about to say to their child 'not now, dear, I'm busy'. "Sam-

"No, Cas. I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me exactly what happened."

Seeming resigned, Castiel let out a sigh. "... Fine." He said. "I was in questioning, and so I didn't catch the whole thing, but I heard Dean calling for help from the cell outside. Before I, or... anyone else knew, there was a terrible scream from one of the guards. We rushed out to find him dead, Dean gone and... You."

"Me?"

"Yes. You were mangled, Sam. I barely recognised you at first. ... Anyway, Julia ran off after Dean. I stayed and healed your wounds."

Sam frowned. "But... Castiel... your grace... didn't you say you were weak?"

Castiel paused. "... Until now, Syriel and Moriel, my two allies you met, were supplying me with temporary grace. I used up half to heal you."

"Half? What about the other half, Cas?" Sam inquired. "What, did it just leak out of you or something?"

"... After I healed you, I followed Julia after Dean." Castiel explained. "Dean killed everybody he came across, Sam. There was carnage everywhere." He looked down at his blood-stained trenchcoat. "... I got into a fight with Dean. I think I managed to injure him, but I used up the rest of my grace, and he fled to god knows where. Julia went after him, I took you into the hospital, told them about what happened, the cops were rung... and now Dean is on the FBI's most wanted list, as well as you. I got in contact with Syiel and Moriel a few hours ago and they were able to hook me up with some more grace- but I definitely don't have the power to take Dean out again, Sam. I can help you, but you're mostly going to have to do this on your own."

Well, thats just great, Sam thought to himself, inwardly rolling his eyes. "... Wait, if I'm on the FBI's most wanted list, then has nobody here recognised me?" Sam asked.

"If they haven't already, they will soon. Some of them, including Julia, think you're dead Sam. They think that Dean killed you. When they realise that your body is not where it should be- back in that cell, that is- and they track you down here, however... well, we are talking 'FBI's most wanted' here." Castiel said.

"... So, we should probably high-tail out of here."

Castiel bit his lip. "Correct."

"... I'm guessing we can't go back to the bunker, can we Cas?" Sam sighed.

Cas shook his head. "I'm afraid not. They'd look for us there for certain."

Sam sighed. Back to crummy holes and shitty hideouts it is then, he thought as they headed for the hospital doors. But hey, at least I'm in an alternative universe. That at least makes things a little more exciting.


	12. Julia

"The results came in."

Julia looked up from her desk, brushing the documents that she had been reading to the side with a hand. Where? Where had Sam gone? She had been able to find out that he had stayed at some hospital for a day or so, but then he'd disappeared. The bastard had tricked her again, and she was getting sick and tired of it. The next time she saw him or his sadistic brother, she'd kill them herself if she had to. At the sound of the voice, she looked up. A man was standing at the door, a file in his left hand. A very, very important file. "Thank you, Daniel." She said. Daniel handed her the folder, which she stared at. So this was it. The blood test results for Dean winchester, as well as the analysis of the syringe that they had found in the bunker. "Does this include the blood samples I ordered you to take of Sam's blood in the holding cell?" She inquired.

Daniel nodded. "Yes." He paused, biting his lip- a gesture that made Julia frown. "Fair warning, some of the results are a little... strange." He said.

"... Strange?"

"... Yes. For example, the substance we found in the syringe, its..." At the look Julia gave him, Daniel paused. "... Well... I... I think that you'd better find out for yourself. Just, uh... read the report. I'll stay here and go through things with you if you need me to."

Disgruntled by how Daniel was acting, Julia hesitated upon opening the file. Shaking off her worries, she tore the file open and slipped the sheet out. Just how strange could this substance be, anyway? Without speaking another word, she lifted the report sheet to her eyes, and she began to read.

She was right- the substance wasn't strange. "... Fuck." Julia swore under her breath, feeling a new kind of sickness rise up inside of her. It was unthinkable. They hadn't found drugs within Dean's system, nor within the syringe. What they had found within the syringe had not been anything so pleasant- not quite. Pushing the sheet away from her, she struggled to fight the bile rising in her throat. What they had found within the syringe had been human blood.

Sam's blood.

"What kind of sick people are we dealing with here, Daniel?" Julia's voice was soft, exhausted, almost, as if she was just plain fed up. She looked up at Daniel. "... When I took over my father's investigation, after he was murdered, I never thought..."

Daniel furrowed his brow. "These people are the scum of the earth." He said. "They believe in demons and monsters, they have the power and the mindset to slaughter full rooms- full towns of people. They torture and murder others and enjoy it, womanize, rob and desecrate people and things because they can and they don't give a crap what any other soul thinks of them." He shrugged. "... Personally, I wouldn't put it beyond either of them."

Julia was flabbergasted. "... B-but... human blood? Who the hell injects anyone with blood, let alone their own blood? Who the hell ties their brother up to a chair, stabs a needle in their own artery and injects it into their own brother? Is it some kind of weird fetish for gods sake? I just don't get it!"

"...Thats what we're still trying to find out." Daniel said. "We have reason to believe that Dean attacked Sam first, but its hard to believe that even if Sam tied Dean up in self defense that it would be sufficient cause for those... injections. ... Who knows, maybe in his own mind, Sam believes that his brother was some kind of monster. After all, Dean and Sam apparently share a very close bond- to Sam, Dean might appear to be a monster, as Dean could never really attack Sam if they loved each other." He shrugged, smiling sheepishly, if not half heartedly. "... I don't know, just my little theory. Maybe it was all just part of some satanic ritual or something."

"... Leave the mental analysis to a psychologist, Daniel." Julia smiled. "After seeing these results, thats definitely the first person I'm sending them to after getting them locked away."

"I must admit, after seeing these results, I'm genuinely interested in what goes through their minds." Daniel said. "I mean... what kind of things could drive a human to do this kind of thing? In their own minds it must all make sense- think about it. Fascinating."

Julia rolled her eyes. "I'm afraid I don't really share in your enthusiasm, Daniel. The only thing I think of when I look at those brothers is getting them sent away to the most secure prison possible and getting them the death sentence. Insane or not, that level of sociopathy and sadism is just not allowed a free pass. It just... isn't." She looked away, frowning. When she looked back at Daniel again, her eyes were blazing, the fury of hell within them. "Dean Winchester is a monster. He slaughtered all those people back in the prison, almost killed his own brother! And so is Sam. He's a psychotic, mass-murdering, sadistic, schizophrenic sociopath, and his brother is as well!" Julia dropped her eyes to her desk, returning to viciously scavenge through her notes. "And I won't stop- I won't rest one second until they're locked away. I get that I'm becoming like my father, Daniel, and that disgusts me, but unlike my father, I don't have a child or husband to neglect. The one thing I have in my life are the Winchesters, and I will see them pay for what they did to all those people. ... To me."


	13. Leads

Bobby's house. They were staying at Bobby's house. It had been Castiel's idea, and Sam still couldn't believe it. Albeit, it was the last place that he wanted to stay at- it brought back far too many painful memories, but here they were. In his world, the Leviathans had destroyed it. He had seen that with his own two eyes- and so it was disorienting.  _Very_ disorienting, staying here now, in a world where he had murdered the Leviathans hadn't seen reason to destroy it. He didn't know how to feel about any of it. The yard was overgrown, as was the house. Cobwebs and insects were the only things staying here now, at this once lively place, and it felt empty. Sitting here now, Sam thought that he would have much preferred a shack or crummy hole, but part of him didn't want to leave. He knew that when he got back to his own world, this place would be gone. Any place tying them to Bobby would be gone. A heavy sadness washed over Sam as he sat there, but he pushed it down, forcing himself to return to his research.

"Think. Where would Dean have gone?" Sam said. He looked down at his laptop and began to type in a few things that could possibly help them. "I'd assume that he'd be smart enough to turn the GPS off in his phone, or even to get rid of his phone entirely, but I'll try that. Do you have any ideas, Cas?"

Castiel frowned. "... Not particularly, no. I cannot sense him, however, so that would mean that either he was staying at some place warded by angels, or that he's gotten a warding tattoo. ... It has been a day, Sam, so he could be anywhere. It is more then likely that he did get one."

"So... Like the bunker?" Sam asked.

"Me and my team were able to break those seals. Not only are they useless now, but its more then likely that they have a ... greater then large SWAT team standing by just in case we do try to go back there. It would be a little redundant for Dean to go back there, if not extremely dangerous." Castiel explained. "I'm not exactly sure how he would be able to get a tattoo, either, given his current position on the FBI's list. Perhaps he threatened somebody there?"

"If he did, then we should be hearing about that on the news soon. When exactly did you become unable to sense him?" Sam asked.

"I was graceless for about 6 hours before Moriel and Syriel could reach me." Castiel explained. "I had to contact them using more... human methods, and finding them wasn't exactly the funnest thing that I've ever done in my life. When they gave me some new grace, I was no longer able to sense Dean's whereabouts. Within that 6 hours, he must have gotten something done, or gone somewhere warded."

Sam did the math. It had been about three o'clock the next day when he had woken up. Castiel had been unable to sense Dean for a good six hours, and when Dean had attacked him yesterday, it had been about five o'clock in the morning. Right now, it was at least seven o'clock in the afternoon, so that left about thirty eight hours in which Dean could have gone anywhere. "I guess that we should begin by checking all the tattoo parlors within the radius of you getting your grace back and not being able to sense Dean, then." Sam said. "If Dean did threaten anyone, then that should be on the news. Same with if he was sighted or if he murdered anybody. Its a long shot, but its the only lead that we have."

Castiel nodded his agreement. "Very well." He said. "We should split up- take different shops. That way we can go through them twice as fast."

"Alright then." Sam said. He closed his laptop out of the map app and shut the lid, turning around to look at Castiel. "I did a search. There are about thirty or so possible parlors he could have gone to. Luckily for us he couldn't carve anything into himself- it'd just heal over." Sam bit his lip. "One of our advantages to him being a demon."

Castiel nodded. "I'll take half, starting with the ones near to the prison Dean escaped from. With my grace, I should be able to cover quite a few of them quickly."

"Then I'll take the more local ones." Sam said. He stood up. "We can meet back here in about two hours. When I finish, I'll call you on a payphone. If I take my cellphone, the police might be able to track me, so its a better idea if I don't use my cellphone at all. I'll also try to call Dean." He said.

Castiel quickly checked to make sure that he had a cellphone on him. "Very well. We should get going then."

Sam got up to go get changed into FBI disguise. "Sure. You should probably put on a disguise as well, Castiel- people aren't exactly in the habit of giving away information if you're not dressed the part."

Castiel frowned, looking startled. "I don't think thats a very good idea, particularly after what has happened in the past-

"Its simple, Cas." Sam said. "No playing 'bad cop', and no holding your badge upside down. Just ask questions."

Looking rather resigned, Castiel did what Sam asked and put on the suit. After they were both dressed properly, Castiel disappeared to one of the further away tattoo parlors and Sam took the car down to the nearest one, which was about twenty minutes away. Brushing back his hair with a hand, Sam got out of the car and opened the door to the parlor, taking a fake ID with him.

"Yes, can I help you?" The man behind the counter came up to him, and, a little more shakily then usual, Sam held out his fake badge. The skepticism in the man's eyes when he saw him startled Sam, and he prayed to god that he hadn't been recognised. When the man saw the badge, however, the suspicion in his eyes seemed to fade away, as if the man had reassured himself. "You're with the FBI, right?"

Sam nodded. "Thats right. I'm just here to ask you some questions about-

"Those Winchester brothers?" The man finished. "Yeah, I guess you would be." He shuddered a little. "Disturbing, isn't it? How two men could accomplish all those despicable things? They sound like downright monsters to me." He leaned a little close to Sam, lowering his voice. "You know, I heard that they faked their own deaths. They're masters at that kind of thing, so they could be anywhere. Of course, you're with the FBI, so you'd know that already." He laughed nervously. "Sorry, I'll let you get on with your questioning."

Trust me, Sam thought to himself. If theres one thing I'm not, its a monster. "Sir, we have reason to believe that one of the Winchester brothers went into a tattoo parlor earlier today. Did you see anyone in here who would match the description of either of them?" Sam noted how the man looked up at him when he said the last sentence, and he felt a little worried. He was half expecting the guy to say, 'nobody but yourself' or something of that nature. The man didn't look like he believed Sam was a Winchester, however- maybe partially because Sam hadn't tried to rip out his throat when he had called the Winchester brothers 'monsters'.

"... No." The man said finally. "I sure hope not, anyway. If those guys came in here, they'd probably slaughter us all in seconds. Freaks."

Sam felt his head burn at the last word. Freaks. Sure, Sam didn't think highly of himself. He'd made mistakes, hurt people, killed people... but surely he'd made up for some of that. He tried to save people. He'd saved the world more times then he count. It just wasn't fair that these people thought of him and his brother as 'freaks'. It just... wasn't. "I see." Sam said. Years of doing this allowed him to keep a straight face. "... Thanks anyway."

The man gave Sam a little salute. "Don't mention it. I hope you catch them soon, anyway. The sooner those two are locked away the better."

Sam forced a smile. "... Yeah, so do I." The man returned to his post and Sam, sighing, opened the door and walked along the street, searching for a payphone. He knew it probably wouldn't amount to much, but he wanted to at least try and call Dean. Half-heartedly he punched the number in, inserted a coin and picked up the phone. It rung for a little while, before cutting to voice mail.

Sam had been expecting as much.

_You've reached the voicemail of Dean Winchester. Leave a message after the beep._

His voice mail was different for this world- something that confused Sam. There should have been no reason for it to be different... right?

_The following is a message for my brother, Sammy. If you're not him and you listen past this point... fine. But don't say I didn't warn you._

Sam leant back from the phone a little, startled to hear his name.

_Sammy, I know that you'll probably never hear this. I mean, you're running around soulless after all. You probably don't even know or care whats happening to me. I just want you to know, Sam... I never once gave up looking for you. Looking for you may have made my life suck, Sam, but you were never once a burden. You're all that I have, and thats why I choose to do this. If you do, by some miracle, have your soul back, Sam- or for whatever reason you are calling me with, I have something to tell you. ... I might not be myself for much longer, Sammy. Theres something I have... the mark of cain... I... Its turning me into a monster. If the mark does take over Sammy... I need you to find me. And I need you to kill me. And if I do say anything to you... that I might regret? None of its true. Not a single word._

Sam felt his heart sink as he listened to the words. These words... They weren't meant for him. They were meant for this world's Sammy. For this world's Dean's little brother. Dean had been hoping that his little brother would pick up the phone, hear them... and from the looks of things, he never had. He heard Dean's voice crack over the phone, followed by a long, shuddering breath of sadness.

_... Incase I ever become something... not human, Sammy, I am going to have a tracking microchip implanted in me. I hid the code to activate it in the bunker, in my room, under the floorboards. I also hid a copy of it at Bobbys- in the panic room. After I make this message and hide the codes, I'm erasing my own memory of doing either- just in case. I don't know what I'm going to become, or if I'll even recognize you. Heck, I might even become a demon. I don't know. Either way Sammy, even without a soul, you're still my little brother._

_And there ain't no me if there ain't no you._


	14. Head-Hurting Codes

"Rephrase, Sam." Castiel said into the cellphone. "What do you mean 'you have a way to find Dean'? What is it?" There was an air of urgency to Castiel's voice.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. "I told you, Cas- its just that. I tried to ring Dean up, just like I said I would. It went to voice mail, right? But... Well... Dean left us a way to find him, Cas. Before the mark took over- he got a microchip implanted in him. He left a copy of the code at Bobbys place. All we need to do is drive back there, get it, activate it and 'Hello, Dean'."

Castiel paused, and for a second, Sam thought that he wasn't going to reply. "... Fine. Its worth a shot." Castiel finally said. "If this works, it could be all we need to capture Dean and get him back in the chair. You're sure about the cure, right, Sam?"

"Positive. And with Bobby's panic room, we should be able to keep him down there for as long as we need to without worrying about him escaping." Sam shuddered, remembering his own experiences with the panic room. "Trust me, that place is more locked down then Alcatraz."

"... I highly doubt-" Castiel begun, only to be cut off by Sam.

"Its an expression, Castiel." Sam sighed. "Anyway, this lead should be a fair bit better then any tattoo parlor that Dean 'maybe' went into. The news should be on by the time we get back to Bobby's house. We can always see if our little theory was correct."

"As a fair warning, Sam, if the police are able to track Dean to some tattoo parlor, and if their investigation of the bunker is still ongoing, then there is a fair chance that they might find the other copy of the code that Dean placed." Castiel warned. "All they need to do then is to figure out what that code is for, and then they'd be able to track not only Dean down, but us as well, given we were on the same route as them. We need to keep a low profile and stay out of the way of the police, so you must understand that doing this is going to be risky. Theres no telling when or how the police are going to find out about Dean's tracking chip, but rest assured, they will find a way. They might even access Dean's voicemail themselves, and knowing Julia, she'll probably guess that we're going after Dean ourselves."

"Don't you think I know all of that, Castiel?" Sam snapped. He sighed. "Look, I get that this is a risky way to find Dean, but its also the fastest and more sure way- not to mention the fact that the sooner I get Dean cured and the cops off of my tail, the more time I'll have to work on getting back home."

"Why are you working so hard to cure Dean, Sam?" Castiel asked. "I mean, he's not... your brother. He's from an entirely different world to you, you know that."

"You said that finding a way back would take time anyway, Castiel. We have no leads on how I'm going to get back, and so the way I see it? We might as well help some other Sammy to get his big brother back to normal. Living with the guilt of all those people he slaughtered as well as the hell Dean is going to give him when he finds out what happened to me is all the punishment that he needs for the time being- I hardly doubt he needs his big brother running around with the black eyes, as well." Sam explained. "Besides, Dean might be able to help us. And you, Cas- I highly doubt that you're going to lift more then a finger to help me while Deans still running around all demonized."

"... That is true. Finding and stopping Dean, one way or another is still my primary mission." Castiel confirmed. "I'll meet you back at Bobby's home then, Sam. ... I am sorry that we couldn't stay somewhere else, but it is the most... convenient place."

"Its fine." Sam said abruptly. "Its not like I was the one who killed him. That other Sam did." That was a lie. Sam still felt shocked that he could do something like that, in any multiverse or timeline.

"... Very well." Castiel said. "I'll see you back at the house, Sam."

"... Yeah. Yeah, okay." Sam said. He hung up the payphone and walked back to the car, driving back. He begun to realise just how hungry he was as he drove- he hadn't eaten in days- not since he'd gotten here. Given the current circumstances, he figured that there was no way that he could just casually stop for a burger, and so he kept driving, making plans to gouge himself- or, conveniently, this other him's body later.

Sam pulled up outside of Bobby's house, opened the car door and ran. Castiel was waiting for him inside. "Okay, Sam, where did Dean say he hid this code?"

"The panic room." Sam said. He scowled somewhat at the words. The panic room. He still held a certain detest for the place. It seemed to him like all it had ever really been was a place to keep him at bay while he went through 'rehab-gone-wrong'. When had they actually ever used it for anything else? He couldn't think of many other examples.

After some rummaging, they found the code hidden at the back of a dusty bookcase. "Got it." Sam said, and he unravelled the crinkled slip of paper with his fingers, only just able to make out the string of letters and numbers through the worn paper. It had obviously been there a good while- a good few months, at least.

"Good, Sam. I found the site where we can activate the chip from." Castiel took the slip from Sam and entered the code. Sam sat down at the computer, staring at the screen and it wasn't long before a map loaded onto the screen.

"There." Sam said, pointing to a blue dot on one part of the map. "Deans... only about two hours out? ... Didn't bother covering his tracks much, obviously."

"Dean is a knight of hell, Sam. If any human did confront him, he'd not only walk out of there without a scratch- he'd probably walk out of there even more empowered and deadlier then ever." Castiel murmured.

"Still, a local bar? He's on the FBIs most wanted list, for gods sake. Its hardly the time to be sitting around drinking shots of whiskey!" Sam reminded.

Castiel frowned, furrowing his brow. Finally, he turned off the laptop, shutting the lid, and looked at Sam. "... FBI's most wanted list is right, Sam. It would be dangerous to go after him now. We should prepare, set a trap-

"I'm done with waiting, Cas!" Sam snapped. His sudden outburst made Castiel flinch back, and Sam lowered his voice slightly. "... We need to get this sorted out. Dean needs to be a human, and I need to get the cops of my ass and get back home. ... So we're going. Now. And thats final." Sam looked away, beginning to walk towards the door. "... I'm not saying we won't prepare, Cas. Of course we'll prepare. we'll carve devil traps into every bullet, fill water guns full of holy water, bless every pair of booby-trapped handcuffs and draw every sigil known to man-kind... But Dean will just find some way to wriggle out from under our noses if we give him the time."

"... Sam..." Castiel began. He stopped there, however, biting his lip and following after Sam reluctantly.

Sam sighed, feeling slightly relieved that Castiel wasn't going to argue with him. It was the last thing he needed right now. As Sam put his hand out and gripped the car door, however, a sudden pain split through Sam's head, and he tensed, gripping the car door's handle in an instantly irony fist. He grit his teeth, trying to overcome the suddenness of the migraine.

Come to think of it, he'd been having a lot of headaches recently.

"Are you okay, Sam?"

The sound of Castiel's voice pushed through to Sam, and he forced the car door open, sliding into the drivers seat in spite of the drums he could hear in his head. "... Yeah." He lied as he started the engine. "Yeah, Cas, I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache, thats all."


End file.
